


For the Crown

by kesleyjo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: A splash of jealousy, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Archie is a wise idiot, Did I mentioning the yearning?, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Murder Mystery, Near Touches, Slow Burn, Yearning, like really au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-05-03 09:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 128,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesleyjo/pseuds/kesleyjo
Summary: The murder of Prince Jason Blossom at the Cooper estate leads Lady Elizabeth Cooper and Prince Jughead Jones into an unlikely alliance and an attraction both are intent on denying.ORMedieval(ish) Riverdale!





	1. The Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! The inspiration to this story is a long and weird one. Hit me up on tumblr @kesleyjo to hear it. But I am SO excited to write this. Its going to be 30+ chapters and a hell of a journey. But I am hoping you all come with me.
> 
> Things to know before you read.  
> 1\. This is super AU. Even medieval AU, this is a bit fantasy. So just bear with me...I will tell you what you need to know.  
> 2\. I am posting this before my outline is done to shamelessly generate some reviews/inspiration, so hold tight until the next chapter is posted.  
> 3\. This chapter is short. The rest will not be.

The sun had started to set on the River Kingdom and Lady Elizabeth “Betty” Cooper could not help but sigh at the unexpected length of the day’s errands.

While the Cooper’s duchy was more than capable of producing all the goods and wares it needed, it was expected that one member of the most well-respected family of the kingdom to show their face and spend some time with merchants of the kingdom. 

This was one of the only errands of status that Betty truly enjoyed. The market was full of life and arguments, it was not proper or formal, and that’s why Betty craved it so. Recently merchants and farmers from miles away have traveled to the royal market, which was nearly in the shadow of the castle itself. The population of the River Kingdom was becoming more centralized, which worried Betty in the abstract sense, but provided so much entertainment in the interim.

Today she witnessed a woman of middle age convince a man to give up his entire stock of Eastern chocolate for about three chickens. A spectacle of persuasion and wit. She saw a small girl charm a single apple from a notoriously stingy orchard owner with a single gap-toothed smile and a wink. A boy with large eyebrows and a permanent smirk that Betty was sure would charm ladies in the future, had bartered a somewhat lean crop of corn for an entire dairy cow. 

Betty herself had payed full price for a large stock of parchment from the Blossom’s Forest Kingdom, from a vendor that Cheryl herself had personally selected. The rest of her day was spent visiting the duchy’s own merchants and vendors, providing her own “Lady Cooper” approval and in general being the individual of “high rank” at market. Given the increased volume of the market, Betty left at least a full hour’s cycle after she had wished.

Betty had much preferred when Polly accompanied her on these visits, since she was far more versed in diplomacy and grace, but Polly had deferred unexpectedly when Betty asked her this morning. Polly had been acting strange going on several months now. She had taken on the lowest status job of going to the Riders of letters every morning for their daily communication and stealing away for hours or even days on end when her parents were away at court. Which to Betty meant only one thing.

Polly was in love.

Betty herself was well versed in the secrecy of hiding a forbidden love, and was willing to indulge Polly her pleasures, as short sighted and doomed as they may be. Betty knew it was worth the pain, love was always worth the pain.

As if on an unfortunate cue, Prince Archibald Andrews appeared in her vision, on the downslope of the hill she had begun descending. Her home was well in view and Betty had cursed herself for not leaving a half an hour sooner to avoid this loathsome coincidence. 

As soon as her saw her, he spurned his horse on to meet her at the acme of the hill. He immediately unmounted his horse as he saw her.

“Lady Elizabeth, well met!” He flashed his charming smile, which had long lost its luster with Betty.

“Your Royal Highness, good eve. You must be on the way to the castle, I dread delaying you and your guard.” Betty kept her eyes ahead toward her home. As a cue for this conversation to terminate as quickly as possible.

“A delay worth making I would think,” his guard had slowed their pace up the hill to give him time to talk to the beautiful Lady Elizabeth, an attraction they were all aware of, and that some secretly shared. 

“As flattered as I am your highness, I am already well delayed on my way home. Our prolonged greetings must wait for another day.” There, that should be clearer to his royal orange head.

He gave her a regretful but not defeated glance, as he grabbed her hand unexpectedly and gave it a firm and rather uncourtly long kiss, “Then until we meet again Lady Elizabeth,” and then lower and conspiratorially, “Betty.”

He mounted his horse as his guard neared and sped toward the castle. Betty felt like burning her own hand. As it was, the old habit of clenching her fist had unknowingly resurfaced. She unclenched and chastised herself before she could cause permanent scars. 

She let out a long sigh and stopped in her path just for a moment. And for that fleeting moment, she let herself imagine his face. The face that Prince Archibald had exiled from their kingdom. Not wanting to merge his beautiful face with her hatred of her future king she banished all thoughts from her mind. 

She consulted her time piece, a rare luxury, and noticed she was hours behind when she should have been home. As she rushed her way through the manor’s walkway and through their door, her worry of chastisement gave way to confusion as raised voices met her ears.

“What future could you possibly envision, Polly?!?” Her father's voice loomed over their main living area. Betty set down her purchases on a basket near the front door and tiptoed as quietly as she could towards the raised voices.

“My future! My happiness! Why can’t you see that?!” Polly retorted back. Betty listened for several more minutes to an increasingly confusing conversation, until a hand tapped her on her shoulder startling her and causing her to spin away from the heated conversation.

Betty came face to face with her mother who promptly put her index finger to her lips and drew Betty into an embrace. 

“You were late love,” her mother whispered to her, ushering her away from the argument and towards the staircase toward living quarters. 

“What’s…” before Betty could finish her mother moved her toward the stairs. 

“I’ll tell you in the morning go to bed Betty, the night is already well progressed.”

Her mother embraced her, and Betty out of fight from her long day, ascended the stairs towards her bedroom, where the conversation was still heard by volume, though Betty could no longer make out the words. 

Betty could not help but regret hearing the rest of argument. If for nothing else but a break from the monotony. She knew that she should be grateful for her comfortable existence, but Betty yearned for adventure, action, and a love rekindled. She let her imagination ponder such things as she fell asleep, and the dusk dwindled to darkness.

It was still darkness when Betty was roused from slumber. It was not gentle, and as she slowly regained awareness she became acutely aware of screaming. Betty ripped the sheets off her body, and banning propriety, rushed down the stairs in her shift. 

Her house was on fire. 

Not the entire house but at least the rooms below her sister’s chambers and their main living quarters which just hours earlier housed a heated conversation that matched its present status.

Betty stood frozen until one of the manor’s service workers grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her towards the front door. “Lady Elizabeth, you must go outside while we put out the fire!!”

Betty lost all recollection of time and space as she was ushered out to the front courtyard of the manor. 

She would argue that the sight that awaited her here was far more terrifying than any fire raging in her home. 

Her father and mother were crouched over two figures. Her sister was screaming, and as Betty scanned her body, she noticed she was bleeding, her entire dress coated in blood. 

Before Betty could process the meaning of her sister's injuries she glanced towards the body to which Polly’s screams were currently directed.

She recognized him immediately but could not comprehend how he could appear in their courtyard, yet alone in the River Kingdom.

It was Prince Jason Blossom, from the Forest Kingdom, laying prone and lifeless in their yard. 

As Betty tried to comprehend any series of events that would lead Prince Jason to their home, let alone to their current state, his already faint rise and fall to his chest ceased. 

As Polly shrieked, Betty lost all consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS come with me on this journey. Feel free to hit me up on tumblr or send me a message here.
> 
> This chapter is more of a prologue but there is important stuff in here. Don't worry Jughead is in the next chapter.
> 
> Stay tuned loves!


	2. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who commented and left kudos on the (very short) teaser to this fic. It really is a lot easier and more exciting to write when I know people are as excited as I am. 
> 
> #Funfact this is the longest chapter I have ever written and it was intended to be one of my shortest. Personal accomplishment. Yay.
> 
> #FunFact2 I edited this myself. Be merciful.

Elizabeth Cooper was certain that if one of her maids were to enter her rooms at this moment, the rumour that she was unhinged would permeate the castle before the evening meal.

Fifteen full days had passed since Jason’s Blossom soul had left this earth on the flagged steps of the Cooper manor’s walkway, and the agent of his demise was still unknown. Constable Keller questioned the Blossoms, the Coopers, and the entire Cooper estate, whether they were present anywhere near the manor, or seven acres away. Betty was half certain he would start asking questions of the more intelligent looking pigs soon. Because there were no leads, and no suspects. The ineptitude of the law was beginning to inspire paranoia and mistrust in the people of the River Kingdom. Betty, however did not bend to paranoia, she overcame it. Her current coping mechanism was all the evidence she could amass surrounding Jason’s death and it was currently papered across the stones of her chamber.

It arched around her in a semi-circle, like a strange macabre rainbow. On her far left, letters, from Jason to Polly. Betty presumed that there were mirrored letters at Thornhill Castle, but Cheryl had yet to unearth them. Betty only read through them once, it felt too intimate to parse them for any further details. There was not a lot of evidence to be gained from them anyway, other to confirm what Betty had already suspected. Polly and Jason were in love, obviously, and the letters dated back about seven months, around two summits ago. What struck Betty as odd was that they kept it such a secret. It really would have been an ideal match. The Coopers were wealthy and from a neighboring ally kingdom, they were, as her mother was fond of reminding them, prime wives for future kings.

Something Betty did not want to be reminded of.

Next to the fanned out letters were the communications Betty had with Cheryl pertaining to the events before the incident. They too, were rather thin on evidence, but primarily because Betty did not want to push her friend during such a sensitive time. The most important points that Cheryl offered were that, no she did not know of her twin’s love for Polly, and as far as she was aware, her parents were also oblivious.

This particular pile of letters frustrated Betty the most, as she believed the secret lived in Thornhill. The castle itself practically whispered as one neared it, but to investigate it's mysteries was to invite it’s horrors. She glanced at another piece of parchment with Betty’s notes tying key facts from the letters together, but they had yet to reveal any substantial truth. Since she could not stare the evidence out of the letters, she moved on to the chronicle of the day itself. It starts fairly paltry, with only the barest details she could gain from her parents and Polly.

Polly was happily ensconced in bed an hour after sunrise, with no signs of embarking on any type of adventure in the near or even distant future. According to her parents she didn’t leave her room until an hour before Betty returned home. At which point her father caught Polly with several of her belongings, attempting to flee. It was at this point that her sister and father began their spat.

She had written, as best as she could remember, the conversation that she had overheard between the two:

_Father: What future could you possibly envision, Polly?!?_   
_Polly: My future?! My happiness! Why can you not see that?!_   
_Father: This is misguided at best Polly, we fully consent to the match, why are you fleeing, think of your reputation, how will you support one another, what land will you live on?_   
_(Polly stops for about 4 full breaths)_   
_Polly: I understand it makes no sense but this is the only way, I will explain in a letter when we are safe…_   
_Father: Bloody hell you will! I am locking you in your room...if he comes to fetch you I will lock him in the cellar…_

It was at that point that her mother interrupted the conversation and Betty was ushered up to their living quarters. Betty remembered nothing more from the conversation, and her next waking moments found her at the front steps of a burning house witnessing Jason Blossom’s last breaths.

Some of the staff of the household offered a wealth of information, but Betty focused on what she believed to be the most useful witness accounts from three of their workers. She too, had summarized their statements and tried to organize them in chronological order.

First from the night kitchen maid, Ethel Muggs, who was outside fetching water from the well, when she saw a figure with bright hair climb the trellis outside of Polly’s room. Alarmed, she went to find the estate supervisor Pop Tate, in the gatehouse a few yards away. Several minutes later as she and Pop Tate started back towards the manor she saw two more figures climb the trellis to Polly’s room. Pop Tate told her to ride as fast as she could to the palace to get the constable.

Pop Tate went to wake the Duke and Duchess first, with her father rushing with Pop Tate to Polly’s bedroom, from where they both heard a scream. Betty had documented the stories of both Pop Tate and her father but they were nearly identical. They entered the chamber to find Polly wounded and bleeding on the floor with Jason unconscious with his sword by his side. Two figures fled from the window, purposefully knocking over the lantern that Polly had set out for Jason and dropping a newly made torch onto the floor setting her window hangings ablaze.

Dilton Doily also testified that he saw two figures leave through the window while throwing another torch into a window on the main floor, intensifying the fire. They then fled towards the back gate, seeming unwounded.

While these statements were important, it was the aftermath that Betty believed held the most interesting details. Polly had been stabbed once, though more effort had been made by the two assassins, according to Polly. Jason also had taken only one blow, but it hit too vital of an organ for him to recover. Jason had been given a key to the back gate of the estate by Polly, which means the assassins had waited for Jason to depart for the Cooper manor. It meant they had followed him with intent.

The main conclusion of all of this of course, was that the intent was to kill both Polly and Jason, a motive Betty was positive the Constable was overlooking.

With that Betty reached the end of her murder arc, with just the letters from Cheryl hypothesizing what had happened after the murder and attempted murder sitting to the far right of Betty. Betty sighed and had to brush away her tears so that they would not fall upon her carefully curated documentation. This had become an obsession for her, and like most obsessions, it was rooted in something more difficult to confront. Betty had not seen or talked to her family since they day after the fire. The entire Cooper family was scattered across the River Kingdom like playing pieces thrown in frustration after a game goes the wrong way.

Her father remained at the manor overseeing the renovations of their home. The manor defiantly remained standing in the wake of the arson, with over half the house untouched by the blaze. Her father, always unable or unwilling to show any vulnerable emotion towards his family, chose to leave his family to heal without them and unfeelingly return their home to its former glory.

Polly had been spirited away to a healing house about mid-distant from the estate and the castle immediately after Jason died. Betty had spent the following day going to and from Polly’s bedside, hearing bits of her story, which Betty had diligently documented. Polly’s doctors kept her stable and alert, since her wound was incredibly shallow (seemingly impossible to Betty given all the blood), allowing Polly to air her hysterics freely and uninterrupted. Hindering this wealth of information was their mother, who kept sending Betty on errands leaving the information she heard incomplete, and questionably reliable at best.

But that too was a mystery unsolved. The next day Betty was panicked to find Polly’s nursebed empty, only for the panic to be replaced with confused rage by the reception of a letter from her mother informing her that she had taken Polly to a convent for recovery, a convent banned from unapproved visitors, and would return once the manor was completely renovated.

The news of the event and the status of her sister had of course reached court, and no sooner had Betty returned home from the healing house when Prince Archibald Andrews swept in offering shelter for Betty while her mother was away and their home was uninhabitable. Her father, the traitor, accepted the offer on Betty’s behalf, and was given only an hour to pack a suitable amount of belongings. Betty had spent a quarter of the hour shoving the half of her closet that did not reek of bonfire into an over-large bag. Another quarter of an hour piling her underthings and personal trinkets on top of said non-odorous clothing. And the other half of the hour taking as many books from the (miraculously) untouched library and packing them neatly and orderly into an even larger sack.

She made Archibald carry that one particular burden back to the castle. The fool hadn’t even brought a horse.

Betty’s cruel (and heavy) trick did not hinder Archibald’s enthusiasm on showing Betty to her living quarters for the foreseeable future.

Betty took time now to look around her ridiculously extravagant chambers. It had to have been one of the largest of guest quarters in the entire castle, located as it was in it's own spire overlooking the courtyard and garden on one side, and the grand castle entrance on the other. The chambers consisted of four rooms: two bed chambers (one remained empty, but meticulously cleaned daily by the castle staff), a small washroom, and the sitting room which joined the other three.

It was here that Betty had spent the majority of the previous fourteen days, wearing out the letters and scribbled notes of evidence, trying to coax a clue or lead out of any of them. Unpacking and repacking them in between visits from the service maids.

As if on cue, the church chimed three low, bellowing afternoon bells, signaling the arrival of said maids within the next hour. Usually around this time Betty carefully piled her bits of parchment, stashed them in a lockbox below her bed, and went on a walk in the gardens. The beauty of the roses and tranquility of the finely trimmed trees helped to prepare herself for being ogled by Archie during the evening meal, followed by being ogled by Archie during the evening parlor game, ending with the evening nightcap, and yes, more ogling.

There would be another murder, much easier for Constable Keller to solve, if the monotony remained uninterrupted.

Today however, presented a reprieve. King Frederick Andrews had declared an assembly before the evening’s meal, demanding that all members of the castle staff, and any courtiers near enough to travel be present. Since that did not give quite enough time for the walk that Betty yearned for, she sought another diversion. She skimmed off Cheryl’s most recent letter from the top of her pile, before safely securing the rest underneath her bed.

Betty filled a goblet with water from the filled-this-morning basin and took up residence in the window overlooking the castle entrance and re-read the day old letter from her oldest friend.

When Betty had first met Cheryl they were five, and Betty had genuinely believed that Cheryl might be possessed by an evil spirit. The royal families came to the River Kingdom, the most centrally located of the Allied Kingdoms, three times during the calendar year to discuss grievances and to vote on allied matters. The monarchs always brought their heirs, even in their childhood, so that the ways of the land could sew themselves into the fabric of their personalities. Cheryl being born five minutes too late, was superfluous, and was relegated to the Coopers for every visit. These visits came with thinly veiled hostility and broken or stolen toys from one or both parties. It wasn’t until they were nine that Cheryl let Betty get a glimpse of her humanity.

Betty had an argument with her father. She had been late coming into dinner, because she had not yet finished harvesting the apple crop. The trees were drooping with ripe and profitable bounty, even one more hour with a windstorm coming from the east would have robbed them of at least a dozen barrels. Thinking her father would praise her, Betty bounded up to Hal Cooper, a blinding smile illuminating their dining room. Instead her father was furious that she had missed the arrival and departure of the Blossoms. He had sent her to her room without supper, and without any consideration for the fortune she alone had saved them. She didn’t even understand why she needed to be there for the Blossoms anyway, it's not like she was the Cooper’s heir. Polly was always there to bow and smile with far more grace than Betty ever could.

As she sat upstairs she furled and unfurled her fists, every unclench revealing deeper crevices in her palms, until eventually blood started to form drops where her nails had worn away the skin. At some point Cheryl had appeared in her doorway. She was dressed in her night shift, signifying that Betty had been sitting this way for hours.

Cheryl walked up the bed, and started speaking, not even looking at Betty. “Sometimes my father takes me out into the castle town to visit street vendors, visiting courtiers and especially landowners. I am very beautiful.” Cheryl did not say it vainly, just stated it as if it were a fact. As Betty stared at her flowing fire-hair and full lips she knew her statement was irrefutable. “They say I have almost a woman’s body. That I will be quite the ripe fruit when I am matured.” Betty wasn’t sure exactly what that meant yet, but it still caused gooseflesh to prick down her arms.

“Father says I put them in a good mood. That it helps for collecting taxes, and encouraging investments in the kingdom. Thanks me for being such an obedient little girl.” Betty remembers the exact moment Cheryl turned to look at her, tears welling up in her round brown eyes. “After we get home, some evenings I stare at my meal. If those days are in a row, I can feel and see my body alter, become less...desirable. And I feel in control again”

It was then that Cheryl took both of Betty’s fists and unfurled them so that they were flat, palms both facing upwards, baring her wounds to them both. Cheryl laid her palms gently on top of Betty’s, as if they were about to start one of those children’s clapping games.

“We should not have to feel this way.”

After that Betty and Cheryl saw each other several times a month, even if just to meet for a few hours in a the town halfway between the Cooper Manor and Thornhill Castle. At thirteen, Betty enabled and encouraged the start of the beautiful romance between Cheryl and the girl who would become the love of her life. At fifteen, Betty stayed at Thornhill for a whole week to help Cheryl learn the manners of the Eastern Kingdom of Zamahna so as not cause a diplomatic incident. At seventeen, when Betty’s love had been banished from the kingdom by Prince Archibald, Cheryl had held Betty while she wept, and then snuck out to the castle stables to liberate Prince Archibald’s favorite horse.

Betty smuggled them sustenance from the kitchen food stores when Cheryl couldn’t swallow a bite in front of her father, and Cheryl always held Betty’s hand after she had fought with her own paternal guardian.

With a loud clang, Betty was startled out of her reverie as a tapestry fell from the wall the maid was currently dusting. She had not even seen or heard Midge enter her room. Unsurprising really, she was a slip of a girl, so tiny that her brown dress sagged at her arms and waist and dragged on the floor hiding her equally tiny feet. She was quiet, and as Betty had found, sometimes unleashed a surprising sense of humour. That humour was nowhere to be found at the moment.

“Many apologies Lady Elizabeth, I had not meant to stir you,” Midge was nervous today, no doubt about the upcoming assembly. Historically they did not bear good news.

“All is well Miss Klump, I am sorry I am inhospitable at the moment,” Betty flashed her a smile that Midge timidly returned. They both knew it was more unusual for Betty to acknowledge Midge’s presence than to ignore it, but that had never been Betty’s way. Although they were untitled, Betty found that those who worked honest jobs day in and day out were often the people most worth knowing.

“I hope you get out to see the garden today, the white roses are blooming and are quite beautiful,” Midge declared, with conspiratorial grin on her face. The normal conversation seemed to have settled her nerves a bit, and she went into the empty chamber to clean the non-existent mess.

Betty shifted to return to her letter when she noticed a cavalcade nearing the castle entrance. The assembly was nearing, so she assumed it was a nearby nobleperson.

There was no carriage, and not all of the party were atop their horses. She noticed about ten in all, all outfitted completely in black. Betty squinted her eyes to get a better look when their identifying flag caught the wind revealing an emerald snake against a black background.

The Serpents.

Betty immediately shifted closer to the window to see if she could spot her beautifully fearsome friend, but no one matched her distinctive description. It actually made Betty sigh happily. Toni would have never turned down an assignment to go to the River Kingdom, which meant she took a detour to visit Cheryl first. The relief eased some of the exhaustion from the last few days, making room for her curiosity to take its place.

The curiosity was not for their presence, in fact she was surprised they hadn’t shown up much earlier. The Serpents had the most well organized and respected army of any of the established kingdoms of this world, and it was not uncommon for kingdoms that could afford the service, to employ the Serpents for extra protection in time of need. A time that was most certainly upon the River Kingdom.

No, Betty’s curiosity was for the elusive Serpent Prince. She had seen Forsythe Pendleton Jones III a dozen or so times in their childhood when he come to the River Kingdom for the allied summits. The last time she, or anyone in the northern Allied kingdoms had seen Jughead Jones (what a nickname) was when he was eighteen, enjoying his last Allied Summit before he went off study abroad in a Western Kingdom. He had been a lean piece of muscle then. Betty remembered thinking he didn’t have enough fat on his body to keep himself warm in the winter; she was concerned.

She was always confused by his shyness, she had tried to talk to him, especially when they were younger and she was still enjoying a friendly relationship with Archibald...well still Archie, then. She asked about his sister, his kingdom, his favorite color, anything really, but he gave one word responses if he gave a response at all. He seemed scared of her, of girls in general. That did not get any better when she became friends with Cheryl. Cheryl never did like snakes.

But that was years ago, and the gossip mill had revealed Jughead had been back in the Serpent kingdom for close to half a year now, and still he was unwed. He was the eldest of the heirs to Allied Kingdoms at two and twenty years of age. Archibald was a year behind him, and determined on marrying in the next year, a thought that made Betty want to flee to the farthest corner of an Island Kingdom never to be seen again. Jason and Cheryl, like Betty aged nineteen. (“Jason was nineteen” Betty mentally corrected herself). Age of marriage for royals was young, usually not passing nineteen, in the interest of producing heirs and ensuring the security of a kingdom. Betty was grateful for being a second child of a duke, she could afford to wait until the mid or late years of her third decade before she was expected to be wed.

Needless to say she wanted to get a look at the string-bean boy and see if she could discern a noticeable reason for his bachelorhood.

Fred (as he insisted Betty call him) and his son opened the gates and stepped out to greet their nearing guests. They were both dressed in River Kingdom colors, deep blue and gold. With a sigh, Betty looked at her own dress, a shade almost identical to Archibald’s jacket. How deeply unfortunate.

Betty still could not see Jughead, deducing that he was dwarfed behind the unnaturally tall and good looking man blocking her view. The cavalcade stopped, and she could see that a figure was unmounting behind mountain-man. Forsythe Pendleton Jones III stepped forward now in full unhindered view to greet the River Kingdom royals.

Betty choked on the water she had foolishly sipped from her goblet.

To say the years had been kind to the Serpent Prince would barely serve the sentiment justice. He had grown taller, if possible, only an inch or two shorter than the human tree, who was also now unmounting his horse to stand behind his future king. Even from this distance she could see that while he had finally put meat on his bones, he had retained his leanness. Like one of those jungle cats she’s heard about in the Eastern Kingdoms.

What fascinated Betty most was his dark black hair, not overly long, but deeply unruly, barely kept in place by his silver crown, the color unusual and even more noticeable on his dark head. Frustratingly she could not get a good look at his face, and she found that it bothered her that she could not complete this picture of him in her mind.

If she was going to get a look at that face anyway, it might also be nice to get a view of this altered figure from a closer perspective. Simply to make sure that her assessment from this distance was accurate. For research reasons only, of course.

Seeing that Midge had quietly escaped from the room, Betty deposited Cheryl’s letter back in her lock box and rushed down to the main hall where the Serpents would be entering.

Perhaps this assembly would bring exciting news after all.

***

Even after four years, Archie Andrews still looked like a human puppy. Not the starved mutts that used to roam the streets of castle township, but one of the pampered pets of the elites of the Western Kingdom kept indoors plump and full of adoration of their owners.

Archie bounded forward and slipped a look of faux seriousness on his face with his hand outstretched. He hardened his face a bit more as he said in his best imitation of his father, “We are pleased to receive you Prince Forsythe Jones III.”

Jughead dampened his own smirk to mirror Archie’s face as best as possible, “Pleased to find your castle still standing Prince Archibald Andrews.”

They kept their stoic looks affixed to their faces for several more seconds until Archie broke, followed closely by the laughter of Jughead as they embraced like brothers. Fred came up to great him warmly and made his excuses to exit in order to prepare for the upcoming announcement. Jughead still could not decipher from his mood what exactly that announcement would be.

“Four years, Jones, I was starting to think you might abandon your post as heir. Find someone in the Western Kingdoms to stay for?” Archie waggled his brows towards Jughead, recapturing Jughead’s attention and effortlessly falling back into the easy rhythm with his friend.

“Nothing to keep me away from duty and country,” Jughead replied, purposefully being coy. Though he knew Archie meant no harm with his comment, he was profoundly aware of the rumours surrounding his - in their country’s mind - prolonged stay in the Western Kingdoms. The most popular of rumours was that he had seduced one of the beautiful daughters of the Baron von Brodin of the Western Kingdom of Douna. [Sidebar: Jughead always found the names of the Western Kingdoms to be so odd (irony not lost). The Eastern and Allied Kingdoms, the oldest in the world, were named simply, based on geography or climate, while the Western Kingdoms, new and full of self important pride were named after their founders and rulers. End Sidebar] While very beautiful, the daughters were not alluring in the slightest to Jughead, and absolutely not enough to keep him tethered to Western land.

In reality, Jughead had spent a year longer than originally planned in Getna Kingdom attempting to aid all Western kingdoms in the war and unrest permanently present in their lands. The Western Kingdoms were made of seven established kingdoms, all with different allies and enemies. The rest of the Western lands were a lavish free for all. Money and corruption abounded for those ruthless enough to seize it, and over the last year, one of the more corrupt free states was overtaken by another, inspiring chaos and unrest in the neighboring established kingdom of Ravendor. Witnessing the system had been a culture shock, but a great learning trial to bring back to his own sorely missed kingdom.

Bringing himself back into the present with his best and oldest friend, he asked Archie where he would like his men and women stationed. Archie signalled to stable boy and footman to bring the Serpents to the stables to rest their horses and then to lead the men and women to their assigned living quarters. As soon as that was completed they were to be escorted back to the main hall for the mystery announcement Fred had planned. Jughead relayed the orders to Sweet Pea, who signalled the rest of the crew to follow the stable boy through the gate and toward the castle stables. Archie gave an impressed nod to Jughead’s easy command of his small force.

“I apologize Jug, propriety dictates that you stay in the visiting royal quarters.” Another footman had already embarked to deposit his belongings in the far more lavish guest quarters in the western wing of the castle. While he did not enjoy being so far separated from his fellow Serpents, it would allow him some dearly desired peace and reprieve in the evenings for Jughead to ponder and investigate the dark goings on of the River Kingdom.

“I understand Archie, but while we have some time, care to direct me to the quarters of Constable Keller? I want to be brought to present surrounding all knowledge regarding Jason’s murder.” It still felt foreign for Jughead to say out loud. While Jughead had always gravitated to Archie, he had known Jason his whole life, and had no ill word to say against him. It was a tragedy that a soul so kind was ripped from the earth so cruelly. Particularly since that meant he would be replaced by his demonic sister in Allied Summits. Jughead shuddered.

Mistaking his shiver Archie replied, “I know it's strange, Jug, it was the three of us for so long.” He paused before returning to Jughead’s original request, “As for Keller, he seems to have forgotten how to solve any sort of crime…” Archie then launched into the details of the case, surprising Jughead. Why, for God’s only sake, was Archie so invested and well versed on this particular murder? “...and of course you should ask Be-Lady Elizabeth, she is staying in the quarters on the Western Spire…” Archie’s entire face melted into a smile, and he nodded almost imperceptibly to a figure approaching behind Jughead. Jughead turned, although based on Archie’s expression he was already well aware who he would see.

It still did not prepare him.

Lady Elizabeth Cooper had been a still growing girl of fifteen with an innocent inviting smile and a personality that bathed everyone in comfort and kindness the last time Jughead had seen her.

Now. Now she made his mouth go dry. Her curves had wrapped dangerously around her body, making her appear anything but innocent. Her hair grew long and fell down her back in a pristine braid Jughead and the sudden urge to unravel. Her inviting smile was still present on her beautiful face, but now it hid the outline of a smirk, as if she were keeping a secret. That comforting glow was still there though, and Jughead waited for that comfort to calm his raging hormones.

“Lady Elizabeth! I am not sure you remember…”

“...Prince Forsythe Pendleton Jones III. Still daring to set yourself apart with your silver crown.” Her smile widened, as did her secret smirk.

“Well met Lady Elizabeth. Though I beg of you, please call me Jughead.” He responded to her curtsy with a slight bow. “I was just hoping to find you.” Jughead did not want to think he imagined the lightness in her eyes.

Jughead had meant to say something kind and reassuring but his nerves, usually so under control, briefly ran away from him and instead he said, “It seems you know more than Constable Keller about the murder of Jason Blossom,” realizing that came out with a bluntness he had not intended, he tried to smooth his blunder by adding, “Since you witnessed his actual death.” Nope, still absolutely not helping.

He opened his mouth to insert his foot further into it if possible, when he noticed a look of shock and surprise flash across Elizabeth’s face before she hardened her features into a practiced mask of false uninterest. So she _was_ keeping information to herself, hiding something under that beautiful exterior.

Jughead was going to press further when Archie sensed the tension and tried to smooth things between his love and his friend, “I know Betty is doing everything in her power to find the parties responsible for this treacherous crime,” Archie soothed, spreading his arms wide as if to sweep them both into a hug. Jughead, intrigued by his informality with Betty, but annoyed by his intrusion, rolled his eyes towards Elizabeth expecting to see a mirrored lovesick expression on her face. It was his turn to hide his shock and surprise.

All the light and warmth had been drained from Elizabeth’s face, she was still beautiful, but like a porcelain doll instead of a ray of sunshine. She plastered a terse grin on her face as she spoke, “Thank you Prince Archibald, now if you will excuse me, it's seems courtiers are starting to arrive for the assembly.” Leaving no time for rebuttal, she slipped away into the growing crowd of nobles entering the castle.

This was a wealth of information for Jughead to process in a short amount of time. Since Archie was seven, he was resolute in his devotion for Elizabeth Cooper, convinced that she would one day rule by his side. Jughead saw no reason why his dream would not come to fruition. Archie and Elizabeth were best friends and confidants since childhood. And while Elizabeth did not seem to reciprocate his complete adoration, she was the kind and gracious partner to Archie’s giving and open demeanor. They could not make any more sense as a fated pair, so much so, Jughead was stunned that they had not yet been married.

The look on Elizabeth’s face told a different, albeit much more intriguing story. He didn’t know if it was cataclysmic event or a slow deterioration, but Lady Elizabeth’s once good opinion of Prince Archibald Andrews had been irrevocably altered. And Jughead had another mystery to add to his obsessions.

“Ah, Jug, I think you made her feel uncomfortable enough to leave,” Jughead needed to suppress a chuckle, he was not the one she was fleeing from. Archie had stared moonily after her, completely oblivious to her obvious dislike of him (of them both, if Jughead was honest with himself).

“For the best anyway Arch, come, let us see what your father has to say. Surely it will be a reveal to get the Kingdom gossiping.” They took places in the throne room on either side of King Andrews, effectively terminating their conversation. The assemblies were few and far between, but procedure was embedded in both of them. Any royals present were to stand alongside the King, visually providing a display of support and unspoken agreement.

Jughead searched the assembled crowd for Lady Elizabeth, finding her amidst the a group of courtiers, one of whom he recognized as the handsome but obnoxious Baron Reginald Mantle. He seemed to be demanding Elizabeth’s attention. Her eyes briefly met his and he could sense the annoyance for him even from this distance, as she turned and made a show of pretending to be interested in the Baron’s ramblings.

What a fascinating human.

She did not have to pretend long, King Frederick Andrews stood, and without saying a word hushed the throne room before him. “Many gracious thanks for those who have traveled to hear this announcement, I am sure our Riders appreciate the reprieve.” A small nervous chuckled waved faintly across the room.

“Today, is a day of great tidings in a time of unease and uncertainty. We shall stand and support our allies, as they grieve from this terrible tragedy.” He stopped for a bit before changing the mood of the speech to something more uplifting. “When reminded of the fragility of life, we could all use a reminder of the good that this world has to bring us, and the good fortune a new beginning can allow. It is my great pride to announce such a beginning for my son, whose upcoming marriage will bring promise and new life to our Kingdom.” Whispers started to fly across the throne room.

Jughead’s eyes snapped immediately to Lady Elizabeth who stood still still as statue, save for rapid rise and fall of her chest. As his eyes scanned quickly to Archie however, all Jughead could discern was that his brows were having a difficult time hiding their confusion.

“In three weeks time, my son will be wed to Miss Veronica Lodge, daughter of Sir Hiram Lodge of the Western free states, forging an alliance between the Allied Kingdoms and our rapidly growing and prosperous neighbors.” The increased volume of the whispers in the room marked the distinct shock this announcement represented. No one had even seen a Western banner in the Kingdom for months, and for the King to agree to a marriage to an untitled foreign family meant that the dowry had to be nothing short of extravagant. That brought relief and excitement to the faces of the more financially pressed noble men and women. There were also sneers of skepticism, and people were looking about to gage the mood of the announcement from their surrounding friends and foes.

Jughead however could only watch the blonde woman who had quickly become his favorite puzzle. It was if she were a star that had burst, her smile was wide and genuine. There was a tension held in her entire body that Jughead had not noticed before but now melted along her muscles. The relief she felt apparent in the life that was reignited in her eyes.

“The entire kingdom is encouraged to welcome Miss Lodge to our Kingdom two day hence. Furthermore announcements regarding the Feast of Promise and the arrangements for the nuptials are to be dispersed by the Riders as required. Long live the River Kingdom!”

“Long live the King!” came the practiced reply, immediately followed by mild bedlam as the gathered people gossipped with friends and neighbors on their way back to their daily lives.

Jughead moved to congratulate Archie, but was stopped by the look of furious surprise on his face. Given how he had gazed longingly at a woman who was not his future bride only minutes ago, it was safe for Jughead to assume his father had not updated him on the news before announcing it to the whole kingdom. Archie grabbed his father and the retired to an anteroom of the rapidly emptying throne room.

Jughead took the opportunity of finally being alone to slip away to his quarters. The announcement had only taken several minutes, and that meant he had a full hour before he was required to descend to the dining hall for the evening meal. A meal where he could study the ramifications of this marriage proposal on his oldest friend and the former object of his fascination.

Jughead knew that his presence here was due to a murder, so boredom was not a state that he expected, but if the first half of an hour of this time here had any bearing on the rest of his stay...it was sure to be lively.

***

Archie tried not to put too much pressure on his father’s arm, but the rage he was currently feeling made regulating his strength a trial.

Archie unleashed his father, and almost whispered, “I am hoping that you have some understandable explanation for the manner in which you chose to tell me that I was getting married, father.” He tried to keep voice even and as detached as possible, but the quaver in his voice betrayed him.

Fred looked older than his years as he sighed towards Archie, “I am sorry you had to hear the news this way, but the agreement was not finalized until this morning. And as Miss Lodge has already embarked on her journey, there was no time to have this argument before I made the announcement. This is the best marriage alliance any kingdom could hope for, Archie,” Fred tried to reach out to his son but Archie dodged his touch.

“It’s the Western Kingdoms father! Not even a kingdom but a free state. This is a poor diplomatic alliance, which means this is purely for financial gain. When did we become greedy money mongers?”

“Perhaps that is a question you should level with your friend Jughead,” Fred said with more bitterness than Archie had ever heard from his father.

“Is there something you are keeping from me?” Archie said it so softly, he felt as if time had to slow in the room.

“Our kingdom is nearing financial ruin, Archibald. We have had to close half of our schools and healing houses, and many of our landowners are struggling to keep staff at the estates,” Fred said all of this with his eyes focused on the floor, as if he was ashamed that he had let the kingdom, his kingdom, deteriorate into such a state.

Archie had never been the quickest to comprehend the situations and problems laid before him, but the pieces of a years long puzzle started to slide into place, “That is why you and the Blossoms want to raise the taxes.” Fred started to nod, still keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

One of the fundamental agreements of the Allied Kingdoms was that government fees and financial considerations placed on their citizens would be close to similar, as not to encourage an overabundance of refugees and expatriots between the three kingdoms. As such all major changes to taxes and fees levied on citizens had to be approved by all three kingdoms unanimously. For the last five years the Forest and River Kingdoms attempted to increase the income coming into the royal government, and every year the Serpents refused and blocked the change. It had been a contentious and confusing development. The Serpents were the historically the poorest of the Allied, and only in the past three generations had started providing their citizens with even the most basic of education and public services.

Archie understood all of this, and the duty engrained in the very fiber of his being told him to take this task being given to him, and to serve his kingdom honorably, but his love for Betty was too strong, too undeniable. “Father, I will do everything in my power to return this Kingdom to prosperity, but…” Archie paused and touched his father’s arm to draw his face to his own. He needed his father to hear him in this, “How can I be a good husband to this Miss Lodge when my heart is fully owned by another.”

His father’s face morphed into a look resembling pity mixed with exhaustion. “I assume you speak of the young Lady Elizabeth.”

“Papa...I love her, I have been in love with her since I first knew what love was. I cannot think of anyone else being my spouse, nor, frankly do I even want to entertain such a possibility,” he said it resolutely and and with conviction. Betty was the only future he wanted, the only future he envisioned, and that was a sentiment his father needed to understand.

For the second time in the span of several minutes, Fred adopted a look of bitterness rarely seen on his features, “Archie, did you know that the Cooper duchy is the richest in the River Kingdom? Hell that it's the richest estate in any of three kingdoms, including the royals? That estate offers no more than they are asked, though they are filled with profit. They take advantage of the privilege of their land and our restrictions.”

Instead of seeing the cristicim or insult in his father’s statement, he instead clinged to a shadow of hope revealed by his father’s grievances. “Then father, why then is marrying Betty not the best solution? Her family is wealthy, abundantly so. It solves all of our kingdom’s worry.”

It was as if Fred knew where this was going, and he had trapped Archie into this proposition so that he could lay out the simple truth for his son.

“Yes Archie, Lady Elizabeth Cooper would provide the best dowry of any family in the Northern, Southern, Eastern or Allied Kingdoms, and still,” he could not help but pause for dramatic effect, “Her potential dowry would barely cover a third of what Hiram Lodge is offering. Think hard on what exactly that could mean for our kingdom.” Fred moved towards the door and left Archie with one final statement, “I will hear nothing more of this matter.”

Archie stayed in the anteroom for what felt like hours but was more logically several minutes. He was going to marry Veronica Lodge. That statement was as irrefutable and concrete as the sun in the sky and the red of his hair. But he was not ready to let go of Betty, nor did he think he would ever be able to let go of her. Possessed with a desire to see her, he ran to a window several halls away that he knew faced the gardens. She indeed was taking her walk, albiet much later than she normally did, in the palace’s rather impressive gardens. As she bent her head towards the freshly bloomed white roses an unfortunate but hopeful idea manifested itself in Archie’s mind.

There was a way that he could provide for his kingdom and be with the woman he loved, all he had to do was think of way to convince her to agree. It would be difficult, he knew, but his resolve was absolute.

Betty Cooper was not someone to live without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww...poor sweet foolish Archie.
> 
> Again just thank you for even reading this. I hope you stick around. The entire story is plotted by chapter...so all I need are some friendly reminders :). Feel free to bug me about that here or on tumblr @kelseyjo


	3. The Proposition

Betty was seven years old when her family traveled to a village on the northern border of the River Kingdom. Her father was there to barter with an Earl, and while her father was off increasing their wealth, her mother took Betty and Polly to Sweetwater Falls. Sweetwater River ran through all three kingdoms and boasted many falls along it’s run, but the the northernmost waterfalls were some of the more beautiful, and safest for swimming. Betty remembered the rope swing that some local had attached to tree located at the top of the falls. The bed beneath the falls was deep and blue, providing a safe landing space for any potential venturers. Although afraid to attempt the feat herself, Polly had teased Betty into mounting the swing and plummeting into the depths below.

Terror had seized her bones until the very second that she took flight, but the feeling of free falling into the river below would be a feeling Betty would chase forever. Her body felt weightless, and yet deep in her gut something heavy was pulling her down, somersaulting her soul to oblivion.

Betty had yet to feel as free as she did in that moment. Until today. Archibald Andrews was set to wed someone who was not Betty Cooper and her entire body was electrified with freedom. She was laying in bed, when the high pure tones of the morning bells rang eight chimes. Still early then, many of the nobility did not rise until nine or even ten bells. As she stretched her body across the bed, Betty thought about staying lazily staying put and dozing off for another hour, but even as she had the thought her muscles ached to get up and move.

Not wanting to be fully prepared for the day, Betty took her dressing gown and wrapped it around her shift. The gown was one of Betty’s favorites, so light a pink it was almost cream with deep red roses embroidered along the hems. Her mother found it to be a peasant’s garment, but as no one should be glimpsing Betty in such a state, she allowed. As a noblewoman, Betty was expected to dress with poise and femininity in any occasion where she could be glimpsed in the public eye. Betty had once remembered traveling to a nearby Count’s to help with their harvest after an accident injured half of their staff. Though she was to help with physical labour she still had to wear her simplest dress, rather than her more reasonable work trousers. A rather illogical piece of decorum.

Betty moved into the chamber’s sitting room where she noticed a kitchen aide had already made the rounds, spying some fruit and cheese laid out by her water basin. Helping herself to a cluster of grapes, Betty pondered between sitting down with a book or taking out her lockbox for her daily perusal.

While normally her first instinct would to be to head straight for the lockbox, her brief and aggravating conversation with the young Prince Jones gave her pause (she could not call him Prince Jughead even in her thoughts it was too ridiculous). He had been suspicious of her, and she realized he had every right to be. While the Serpents were here for protective duty, it was an unspoken truth that the Prince would investigate to expedite the Serpent’s presence in the kingdom. She was the only individual in the castle who had been present for the crime, and it was only logical that he question her.

It did not stop Betty from being irritated with his bluntness and arrogance. Perhaps that was the reason he was so monosyllabic when communicating with her in their few previous meetings. But as Betty sat in the same window where she saw him and his small troop arrive yesterday, she tried not to think about how his face was indeed as beautiful as his body or how he managed to keep his hair so perfectly soft-looking.

When she had come face to face with the Serpent Prince she was struck with his easy poise and demeanor. It was very quickly disrupted by his utter lack of an ability to communicate, which caused Betty to scold herself on her focus of looks over substance. Over the evening meal she had spied him more than once looking over in her direction, not to mention the several glances he had stolen during the assembly. She did not understand the drive to get to interact with him further, and she did not wish to dwell on this desire any longer.

Fate intervened with a knock on her door. It was rather early for the maids to be arriving, but with so much excitement from the previous day, she shouldn’t be too surprised that they had started their rounds so promptly. She thought briefly of changing into her day gown, but she was well enough acquainted with all the young ladies that came into her room to feel comfortable staying put. The door opened without her calling out for entry, also not uncommon, maids were to complete their duties whether an occupant was present or not.

What was uncommon was the the person who entered her room at that moment. It was Prince Archibald Andrews, dressed, but haphazardly so, in a loose tunic and riding trousers, meaning he had come straight from his morning exercises. He looked incredibly nervous, a look that no doubt was made worse by the look of sheer shock on Betty’s face.

“Prince Archibald, what are you- is something the matter?” she did not curtsy, but really this visit was already far outside the realms of propriety.

That seemed to make him chuckle at some private joke. He composed himself and took a deep breath, looking less nervous and more focused now, which planted a pit of unease in Betty’s own stomach.

“First, Lady Elizabeth I want to apologize for the manner in which you had to hear about my engagement yesterday, you have to know that if I were apprised of the declaration before, I would have consulted with you in private,” Archie had his hands open wide as he gestured, as if his entire body was apologizing.

Betty knew she had to tread carefully, she in no way wanted to encourage whatever fantasies Archibald had and possibility still harboured for her, but there was no getting around the very real truth that Archibald was her future king. She had seen him destroy other lives, there is no reason for her to believe that if she fully crossed him that he would not do the same to her.

“There is no need for that Your Highness, I apologize for not staying back to congratulate you in person, but I look forward to meeting your bride in the morrow,” Betty wrapped her robe tighter to her body and took a few strategic but subtle steps towards the water basin. Putting furniture between herself and Archibald seemed like the best course of action.

Nodding to himself Archibald looked directly at Betty, in consequence making her breaths shorter. “Betty you need to know that this is not what I wanted, I had every intention of asking you to be my wife,” Betty drew in a sharp intake of breath, and immediately forced herself into a facade of calm, this was not the introduction to a speech where he asked her to run away with him. He was resigned.

“My father made it clear to me that marrying this Miss Lodge is what is best for the kingdom, and I agree. Our kingdom needs a fresh income of wealth to reinvigorate our public,” he paused to take a breath, “but I am not willing to lose you, and the life we could have had. Betty I am asking you, begging you if I must, to be Lady Convoy to the King.”

Betty stared at him, convinced that she had heard him incorrectly. Convoys were the term adopted by the world to make the position seem more entitled than it actually was. In reality all the world knew that convoy was a more formal word for escort.

“You are asking me to be...your _mistress_?” Betty was suddenly very aware that she and Archie were alone in her chambers, and she was in nothing but a shift and dressing gown. She needed to end this conversation, and if the words she used caused her to be banished forever...all for the better. Anything to be free of this entitled lecherous boy.

“I know it’s not ideal, but any children you bear would still be legitimate, and in line for the the throne after my trueborn heirs…”

“That is enough Archibald. I decline your offer, and I must ask you to leave my chambers at once.” Betty marched past Archibald and held the door open for him, hoping to end this ludicrous conversation.

“Betty, please think about it, we have gone through too much to abandon a future together. You are the only woman I have ever loved…”

His use of that word was too much for Betty to stand, “Love?! Do you know what love is Archibald? Because I do. Or should I say did. I had it, I had _him_ , and you banished him from the kingdom, robbed him of his title and his future! Or have you so easily forgotten” The time for niceties had long passed, and Betty’s tone could no longer remain cordial.

“I know you think you loved that Clayton boy…” Archie was starting to get defensive now, his open posture changing so that his hands were in front of him.

“I loved Charles Clayton with my whole heart. We were engaged to be wed and you disrupted that happiness with false allegations. Now you would also wish to ruin my reputation by asking me to be your mistress, of all things. I decline, and my mind cannot be changed on this. I will however do you the courtesy of not mentioning this to your future wife or your father. Now please leave,” she held the door open wider, the wood almost groaning beneath her grip and cast her eyes away from him in hopes of encouraging a quick exit.

“Please, Betty…”

“You may call me Lady Elizabeth,” her voice was cold as she snapped her gaze to him. Archibald almost seemed surprised, but she could tell by the defeated look on his face that he believed her. Finally.

He swept out the door and Betty felt as if she could not close the door fast enough on his retreating figure.

Betty’s entire body was shaking with a mixture of rage, sadness and shock. Part of her was willing her body to believe she was still sleeping, that the future king of the River Kingdom had not just meandered to her room and propositioned her.

Convoys were common, especially in kingdoms and states where marriage only represented a political act, but never had a royal offered that particular title to a member of the nobility. Even same sex royal couples could make Royal Decrees of Lineage to assign new and appropriate heirs rather than take on a Convoy. Meaning Archibald must be desperate to keep her in his life, it almost made her pity him.

No, she could not sit in her quarters and fester on this turn events any longer, or allow herself to empathize with her attacker. She prepared a small satchel with the food that was brought in the morning and her book and quickly changed for the day. She needed to be surrounded by beauty and serenity, and she could think of no better place than the castle gardens.

She could tell that the castle was just waking up as she made her way to the courtyard leading to the gardens. As she was met with outdoors she was glad for wearing one of her heavier gowns, the morning biting at her bare skin. It still felt like summer during the day, but the mornings could not deny that autumn was coming. She walked the half kilometer to the large elm tree, which quickly became her favorite for its remoteness and shade. She pulled a few blankets from the chest that was kept nearby and refreshed with blankets and food staples daily. She laid one at the base of the tree, and placed another over her lap as she tried to refocus on her book.

As she re-read the same sentence two dozen times she allowed her nerves to ebb into some semblance of normal. At the very least, since this surprise occurred during the early hours of the morning, the rest of her day should at least be calm in comparison.

  
***

  
The sun was still low in the sky when Jughead awoke thinking of Jason Blossom’s killer. An unsurprising development given that the crime was his sole purpose for awaking in the lush guest bedroom of the River Kingdom castle. He had spent most the previous evening scrounging over the records that the constable had copied for him. As he had suspected the records were meticulously kept, but offered no real investigation, no exploration of the possibilities.

Jughead started with the most basic question, one the constable did not seem to concerned with answering. Why would someone want to kill Jason Blossom? Even though the constable did not share this theory, he was also starting to consider that Polly Cooper had also been a target. The killer, or the person who hired the killers wished to rid the world of the young lovers. Why?

His list of suspects was small, and he could not be sure that the guilty party was present on the list, but he needed to start somewhere. First up was Cheryl Blossom, and even he had to acknowledge that he he placement on the list was out of his own bitterness. If she were capable of love, as Toni keeps telling him she is, then she had it for her brother Jason and no one else. So even with a motive as strong as the throne to the Forest Kingdom, Jughead found it difficult to fathom Cheryl killing the only person who had ever loved her.

Next on his shortlist was a fallen Westerner. The Forest Kingdom was the closest kingdom, Allied or Northern to the western shores. About a dozen or so families had been pushed out of power, but not out of money during the riots, and they would be on the run. They were desperate, and killing a royal family to usurp a kingdom was not unheard of, especially given the circumstances. Jughead had to admit however that the scale of the attack, did not meet the standards for a coup. Any decent conspirator would have gone after the entire royal family if a takeover was desired, not just the heir.

His last desperate suspect was one of the Coopers, for access alone. While it did seem odd for them to mangle their own manor, they made for the most believable motive. If Polly was planning to run away from her inheritance, they may have acted suddenly and irrationally out of spite, particularly given the fight that Lady Elizabeth had overheard.

Lady Elizabeth. The leads were minimal, and really Jughead could only think of one person he wanted to question, but he had done a remarkable job the day prior of burning that bridge. The manor was under lockdown, and he had to rely on the statements given to the Constable for eyewitness accounts. Elizabeth was hiding something, of that he was certain, but how nefarious a secret had yet to be determined. She was beautiful and charming and as such, no one would suspect her of anything less than perfection. Charm and perfection were never to be trusted, life had already cruelly taught him that lesson.

Regardless, he could tell he was able to shake her resolve, even in the slightest, and he was sure he could break through to some truth. Jughead could see her window from his own. He chose to believe he would only use the vantage point for strategic and investigative reasons, but at the moment the view was moot. She was probably still sleeping, it was nearly nine bells, and he was finding that most nobility kept a leisurely morning schedule.

That was a luxury never afforded to him in the Serpent Kingdom, and he had no intention of adopting the habit now. He dressed in comfortable sparring gear, and headed to the armory on the west side of the castle where Archie went for his exercises. He was doubtful that he was going to see his red-headed friend, Archie being the epitome of a lazy morning sleeper, but he could practice on one of the dummies until he rolled out of bed.

As he entered the armory, he was surprised to find a dummy already brutalized and some large sacks of flour used for building strength strewn across the floor. Odd, since no courtiers stayed for dinner the day prior, meaning that no one but the future prince himself had come to the armory this morning. Slightly miffed his friend did not wake him for a sparring match, Jughead headed back towards the castle to find him and make him pay for the infraction. His route edged along the gardens, and he did a double take, thinking he saw a flash of a familiar blonde braid.

Finding a break in the hedgerow, he sidled through and squinted towards a large elm tree, standing solitary in the middle of a carefully kept field. Underneath the shade, sat Lady Elizabeth Cooper, bundled in a blanket, reading a book. She almost seemed to be an extension of the tree, rooted underneath barely moving. For a moment he thought of leaving her to her serenity, but the temptation of seeing her here, unprepared and unguarded was too tempting to ignore.

He traversed the grounds, staying away from the path and hidden by the trees and hedges that ran alongside it. He felt slightly criminal, and definitely like a cretin, but he could not risk scaring her away. When he reached a distance where it would be impossible for her to exit without it being suspicious, he leisurely walked towards the elm. She must have been incredibly engrossed in her book because she jumped when he greeted her, “Good Morning, Lady Elizabeth.”

She looked up at him, and acknowledging her visitor, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she were preparing for battle. “Good Morning to you, your highness, I must say I didn’t expect to run into anyone so early in the morning,” she flicked her eyes towards her book and back at him with a look of practiced patience. Like she was looking at a petulant child.

“So formal, please like I said yesterday Jughead is preferred,” he flashed her what he thought was a charming smile, but she remained unfazed. Jughead’s confidence in breaking through towards Elizabeth’s secrets started to fade. She was in no mood for interrogation, so a change in tactics was required.

“I was hoping to have a word with you, one slightly more cordial than our greeting yesterday,” another charming smile, another look of sheer apathy. This woman was going to damage his ego. “My knights and I are here to protect the kingdom while there is still a killer at large. If we were to find said murderer, you could return to the peace of your book and never be bothered by the Serpent Prince again,” he said it lightly, but the implication was there. Help him, and his presence, which appeared to annoy her greatly would cease.

She smiled slightly, “Prince Jones you seem to be under the impression that I am harbouring some secrets. I am not,” she paused and measured the look in his eyes before continuing, “I do however, think that the Constable is...overlooking key facts and witness accounts. I would be happy to let you see my notes and give you written consent to visit the manor.”

She was so measured and rehearsed with him, yet he knew she was being genuine. She had been attempting to solve the case on her own, that was the secret she guarded yesterday, which did not surprise him. Someone was killed in her home, her sister injured, and he had seen himself that the Constable’s investigation left much to be desired. The mystery of Elizabeth Cooper should hold no more allure to him...and yet.

What she had offered him was actionable, he could look into her notes, and go to the manor himself. He would act on both offers, but he found that he wanted not to just read carefully selected highlights from her, but to hear her insights, her thoughts.

“What makes you think the Constable is on the wrong path?” He asked, trying to sound conversational, but he could not mask the curiosity in his voice.

Elizabeth abandoned the pretense of returning to her book as she made a show of closing it and setting it back in her bag. She removed the blanket from her lap and stood, starting to fold both the blanket that was covering her and the blanket she was sitting upon as she stared straight into Jughead’s eyes, “I think he asks time-wasting questions.” She took both blankets and walked over to a chest nearby, placing both carefully inside. She brushed past him on her way back to her bag, and Jughead could swear she smelled like fresh strawberries.

“It must be difficult for him to get the answers he needs, when his resources continue to give vague responses,” Jughead narrowed his eyes at her, very aware of the double meaning behind her response. It frustrated him that she was being so difficult, granted they had gotten off to a shaky start the day prior, but he was being nothing but courteous now. He was a prince, he did not have to stand for sarcasm and glib from the second daughter of a Duke.

“Lady Elizabeth, one would think you would take any offer of help, seeing that it was your own sister who was attacked, do you not want to find the person responsible? For all you know the culprit may try for another attempt,” his words were meant to inspire compliance, not stoke the anger that seemed to be bubbling on the surface.

“Of course I would do anything to find them, and it is cruel of you to imply otherwise. I have given you permission to visit the manor, I have offered to show you what little insight I have into the crime. What is it, exactly, that you think I am keeping from you?!” She has stepped forward so that she was less than a foot away from him. She looked so tired in that moment, so exasperated with the circumstances of her life, that Jughead wanted to leave her be, go to the manor and conduct his own investigation independent of her. But she had asked him pointe blank what he thought she was keeping from him, and if there was even one breath of a chance she would tell him, he would take it.

“Was your sister sleeping with Jason Blossom?” He asked that question first, as he both wanted the answer, and to catch her off guard. He anticipated either a look of shock confirming his theory, or a firm and righteous denial. Instead, it seemed, Elizabeth Cooper was simply unamused, “I am sure I have no idea. She never told me one way or the other, and thankfully I have never interrupted the act to confirm.”

It was rather shocking language, especially directed at someone who outranks her. Jughead felt old resentment bubble to the surface. Forest and River Kingdom citizens always looked down on the Serpent Kingdom, even as a prince he was lower than the servant who cleaned his chamber pot in the River Kingdom.

It infuriated him.

“Well then did she jilt Jason? Perhaps is was a mutual attack of passion, you must understand the feeling if your interactions with Archie are any indication,” it fell out of his mouth before he could stop and just continued to get worse as he added, “Although the Cooper ladies are known more for their tease than their promise.” It was a hateful speech fueled by his deep insecurities, and he regretted it as soon as it passed his lips, but Elizabeth did not give him any chance to apologize. She stepped forward so she was impossibly close to him. She was a full head shorter than him, but her anger was towering.

“You self entitled princes, think you can demand and accuse as you wish,” she said this under her breath as a precursor to the speech she delivered to Jughead’s face. “Tell me Prince Jones, when is the last time you have seen your mother, is it true she ran off with a lover to an Island Kingdom? Is she the reason you have not been able to settle on a suitable bride? And since we are questioning motives, why have you relegated yourself to hired thug, rather than behave as an actual prince?” Elizabeth asked these terrible questions without malice, as if they were just known facts.

Jughead’s mouth fell into an “O” of shock, as he stared at Elizabeth’s unreadable face. He was about to launch vitriol back towards her general direction when she stopped him. She had both her hands held towards him palms up so that they were almost touching his chest, but it was her expression that stole his voice. She looked apologetic and empathetic, and for a moment Jughead thought she might reach up a hand to touch his face.

“No. No, of course you do not have to answer any of those rude and invasive questions. They are unnecessary and I have no right to intrude on those answers. If you wanted me to know, it should be your choice to tell me.” She was looking at him expectantly but Jughead was stunned and immobile so the only words that could fall out of his mouth were, “Thank you.”

As soon as those words were spoken all gentleness fell away from her beautiful face as she turned to stone, she stepped back from him, immediately feeling the vacancy of her presence, as she picked up her things, never breaking eye contact with Jughead.

“Now, would not the world be better if all people believed the same. Letting others reveal their truths through trust, not intimidation.” Betraying no emotion in her face she turned to leave and Jughead could say nothing.

She stopped and Jughead felt his heartbeat falter for a moment. She turned and fixed him with a warning look before she spoke, “I am a woman of my word your highness, I will have a copy of my suspicions sent to you, and I will send word to the guards immediately at the manor, that Prince Jones should be able to question whomever he wishes. It will be done by bell change.” With that Elizabeth turned and walked back towards the castle, not once sparing him a glance.

***

Lady Elizabeth kept all of her promises in a timely manner. After he ate at noon, he rode the short distance to the Cooper duchy where he was being expected by the guards. The Duke was not present, but he was able to question all workers who had recollection of the events. It did not provide much insight, but it did increase his trust in the given statements. All of the people who worked at the duchy were kind, loyal and true.

Every single member of the staff he spoke to asked after Lady Elizabeth, or Betty, as they called her. She was universally beloved, and Jughead had never felt like more of a entitled ass. That feeling only intensified as he made his way back to the castle to find an envelope from Elizabeth waiting for him. She had carefully copied her suspicions and provided ample evidence to support her claims. It was clear that she was deeply intelligent, and though that had always been a quality Jug had prided himself on, he could feel nothing but foolish.

(He also spent time admiring Lady Elizabeth’s handwriting, it was light, graceful and unrushed, all the more surprising given their interaction that morning)

He went down to the evening meal determined to apologize to Elizabeth, only to discover that she was claiming illness, and had opted to take her meal in her chambers. The resident members of the nobility ate separately from the rest of the castle, so this evening Jughead was alone with the Andrews men, both of whom seemed to be harbouring demons of their own.

King Andrews seemed to determined to only have a conversation with his meal, not meeting the eyes of either his son nor his guest. Archie, for his part did not seem to want to speak to his father any more than his father wanted to speak to him. Whatever battle they waged was over since yesterday, and now they were just wading through the wreckage.

Archie kept glancing over at Jughead, as if wanting him to engage in conversation without having to make the first move. Jughead had only just returned from the Cooper manor, and so he had not spoken to Archie since dinner the previous day. He looked...torn, and Jughead needed to ignore his own demons to be there for his friend.

“Arch I went to the armory this morning hoping to spar, looks like you beat me to it, when did you become an early riser?” Jughead chuckled, but Archie winced before looking at his father. “I had some frustrations to work out this morning, and some decisions to make.”

“That sounds serious Arch, not planning to wage any wars soon are you?” Jughead teased, determined to bring his friend out from whatever torture he was putting himself through. Archie managed a ghost of a smile, but did not delve further into whatever decisions he was wrestling with.

The return of conversation to the table seemed to disinterest King Andrews who bid goodnight to both of them, as he announced his intention to retire for the evening. As soon as he left, Jughead turned to Archie with unmasked sincerity.

“Come on Arch, what’s going on?”

Archie stared at his plate for several more seconds before letting out a sigh, “I did something really stupid Jug.”

“Must be something in the water…”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing, what happened?” Jughead could use the distraction from his own blunders of the day.

“I just- I insulted Lady Elizabeth this morning. I was so sure...never mind it’s not important what I thought. I made assumptions and offended her, and I do not know how to fix it.” He looked at Jug with such hope in his eyes. Jughead always used to tell him what to do when he broke something or said something without thinking.

This time Jughead could not help him, because he could not help himself. Then a thought occurred to Jughead, “Did you have this fight early in the morning?”

“Yes, why is that important?” Archibald furrowed his face in confusion, trying to follow Jughead’s line of thought.

Jughead saw everything clearly, Betty had had an altercation with Archie and he had made it significantly worse by accosting her probably less than an hour later. He was not sure he could overcome this remarkably horrible impression he had built but he would try to find a way. He had to.

He gave Archie some half hearted advice about sending Elizabeth a note the next day when he too retired to his room for the night.

Jughead went to bed early that evening where he tossed and turned until the bells stopped chiming, well into the early hours of the morning. He could not stop thinking about Lady Elizabeth, her self assurance and wit as they argued. Her conversation with him was not measured, and he should be praising her candor, rather than believe it was a sign of disrespect.

He sat up, giving up on sleep and lit a candle so that he could read himself exhausted.

Even as Jughead let the familiar words lull him into a slumber, he could not stop his subconscious from placing Elizabeth’s face on the characters in his story, nor could he shake his inexplicable but unstoppable craving for strawberries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we meet Veronica and Toni! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think so far :)


	4. What's in a Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, my muse is apparently on vacation. I hope you enjoy! (Also self edited so...be gentle)

Veronica Lodge was not a victim or a playing piece, although at the moment it would be hard to convince anyone otherwise. Her father had allowed her only one servant (and not Veronica’s favorite) on her journey, while stressing the importance of being gracious and bending to the ways and customs of the River Kingdom. “Do not be ungrateful, Veronica,” “Do not be overbearing, Veronica,” “Do not be condescending, Veronica.” 

Veronica could not help but think that her parents were guilty of all three.

She had agreed to marry a total stranger for the good of the family, but the harsh realities of that agreement were starting to fray Veronica’s usually unshakeable nerves. Her mother and father were not planning to join her in their new kingdom for another fortnight, as they needed time to secure the Lodge wealth, and her dowry, before their arrival. Her only reminders of home, besides her taciturn maid, were a package of delicately made pastry biscuits and her lavish Western made wardrobe. It was full of rich colors, fabrics, and embroideries vibrant with craft and class. One of her most expensive garments was a dark emerald dressing gown with a bright blue tail-feathered bird sewn delicately into it’s silky fabric. Her favorite though, was the gown she was planning to wear to the Feast of Promise, a dark burgundy velvet accented with gold hems, which cut lower than was custom in these conservative kingdoms. She was determined to shake them free of their stubbornly outdated code of fashion. This river land needed to open their eyes to the wonders that the world and freedom, true freedom, could offer.

The Western free states were all that Veronica had ever known, even at the tender age of nineteen years, she still remembered a time when the free states held absolute power and the Western kingdoms monarchies were still shells of authority. The states had open, free, unregulated trade that encouraged competition and creativity. People crafted more daring and beautiful wares to compete with their rival artisans, and the cycle circulated and multiplied until there were diverse and exotic goods bursting out every marketplace. Veronica did concede that this great privilege of choice came with the price of danger and uncertainty. Murder and thievery were commonplace, and with no law or order, they perpetrated their crimes with no consequence. Her father inspired enough fear that she stayed physically safe, but threats and taunts had always been part of her young life.

Her father had thrived in that world, in that life, and in doing so provided her and her mother with all the luxuries his power could offer. He hired the best entertainers to come and privately perform for them in their sprawling estate, all while under the careful watch of her father’s private guard. Fruit, chocolate, and other rare delicacies were shipped from all over the world, and they overflowed from bowls  and serving trays until they were either consumed or spoiled. It was an easy and pleasurable life, one that Veronica was not ashamed to admit she missed dearly.

But over the last year, life in the free states had started to change. The Western Kingdoms started to rise and impose trade restrictions on the ports. The rich and non-royal families started to congregate in the states of Yorke and Hampshire, and competition grew deadly. Families started to fall to financial, personal and more frequently mortal ruin.  Even children were not safe, as Veronica lost more than one young friend to the dangers of the political upheaval. Her father’s power waned as his allies fell, and before they could overthrow him and steal his considerable wealth, they fled, along with her father’s last remaining ally. The Lodges had been living in inns under assumed names for the past several months trying to find a new place to settle. In the rise of the monarchy, the only way to secure power was to marry into the nobility. As the oldest and undoubtedly most powerful in the world, the Allied Kingdoms became prime targets for Western families to try and start a new life. Most families bart eredfor low land titles, and simple lives, but her father had higher aspirations. With a daughter on the throne her parents would begin anew, fresh with new status and power.

Her first impression of the River Kingdom had not been entirely positive. She had arrived obscenely early in the morning, with little fanfare, but the King himself had escorted her to her chambers. Presently, she sat in her rather modest rooms, still enshrouded in darkness and entirely devoid of color. She did not hold hope that the rising sun would make the rooms any less drab. The king mentioned that there was a prince and a duke’s daughter also staying in the castle, wordlessly justifying that she would not be receiving the best rooms before her wedding. Until she said those vows, her title was as low as the scullery maid’s.

Veronica was hit by a stroke of despair and hopelessness. There was no alternative, and she was lucky that her father had arranged such an advantageous marriage for her, but all she could feel and see was the cold, dull world around her. It was a pale imitation of a life worth living.

She went over to the mahogany and bronze trunks that had been packed for her, easily the most vibrant color amidst all the gray, and opened the lid. The top layer of the trunk was not populated by her opulent wardrobe, but by artisan made tapestries. The art had hung on the walls of her family's manor, dressing the stone in scenic views and colorful patterns. Not all of the tapestries made it into her trunk, obviously, but specifically Veronica’s favorites, meaning her mother must have specifically packed them for her. She almost collapsed with affection for Hermione Lodge, an odd reaction from Veronica. While Hermione was not cold or calculating towards her daughter, neither had she been overly warm or loving. These small glimpse into her humanity always left Veronica thirsting for further demonstrations of tenderness.

As she stared at her remnants of her past life, Veronica was filled with new resolve.

Veronica Lodge will not be defeated, for this place was going to be her home, and if she needed to drag culture back into these halls she would, even if by sheer will. Veronica started to transform her chambers, beginning with the tapestries, surrounding the room in class and color. She continued by methodically unpacking the rest of her trunks, slowly populating her small quarters with lavish trinkets. She placed her gold plated brushes, encrusted jewelry boxes, and her dressing gowns on her vanity. Packed for safekeeping between the tapestries, Veronica found some other family keepsakes and figurines that she in turn placed all around the room. Tiny sporadic reminders of a home lost. 

As the sun started to crest on the horizon, Veronica called for Ginger, her crabby maid, and requested that she fill the half dozen vases in her chamber with flowers before she came back from her presentation to the kingdom. It would be nice to be surrounded by other beautiful imprisoned things. Ginger rolled her eyes at the dramatics, but did as she was instructed.

Veronica waited for another quarter of an hour for two members of the king’s guard to escort her to the main hall to meet her fiance. Veronica took one last look in the mirror, and felt she was missing something. The rather perturbed looking guards waited a few moments as she entered the bedchamber and opened her newly unpacked jewelry case. She removed her favorite necklace, one of her father’s first gifts to her, and quickly fastened it around her neck. Pearls were rare outside of the island kingdoms, but her father had managed to obtain ten, which in turn were commissioned into this simple yet effective piece of jewelry.

They, like Veronica, may look delicate and beautiful, but they were her armor, and Veronica was ready for battle.

***

There was a bead of sweat working its way down from the base of Archie’s neck down his back. He could feel it, running along his muscles like an isolated river, only to be absorbed by his suffocating linen undershirt at the slightest movement. 

That discomfort was pleasant compared to the stifling glances of the humorously large crowd that had gathered to “welcome” Veronica Lodge to their kingdom. They were fooling no one, they were here to gawk and gossip about the arrival of their future queen, and to pick apart every reaction and gesture between the future royal couple on their first meeting. The expectations were more stifling than the stale air of the hall.

He wished to be comforted by his best friend, thankfully present and standing to his right for such an occasion, but Jughead was visibly distracted this morning. Dark purple shadows highlighted his exhaustion, indicating the utter lack of a good night’s sleep. Archie knew the still unsolved murder of Jason Blossom had become a burden Jughead had taken upon himself to solve, but he was perplexed as to why it was affecting him so deeply. The Serpent Kingdom had been tasked on many such similar missions, ever since Jug was a teenager, and yet Archie had never seen Jug so stressed, or so bothered. Archie made a mental note to ask him about it later, perhaps they can help alleviate their respective miseries through some form of physical combat, Archie always found that calming. 

Magnifying that misery was Lady Elizabeth Cooper, standing a few paces away from Jughead, making direct and unblinking eye contact with the floor at her feet. No matter how  hard he tried to ignore her presence, his eyes kept finding her frame, a problem that Jughead seemed to be encountering as well. She always did have that effect on people, drawing them in, making them feel special by her attention. He used to believe that is what her relationship with Charles Clayton was founded upon, him being drawn to her magnetic being. He was after all, a notorious flirt and womanizer, leaving a trail of scorned women in his wake, a man that a Duke’s daughter would know to avoid. Betty, as she was with everyone, was kind to but cautious of Chuck. As they started to spend more time together, even Archie had to admit he was impressed and rather shocked by his change of behavior, to a state that someone might describe as gentlemanly. But when Chuck announced his intention to marry Betty, Archie was convinced he was taking advantage of her in some way. Betty could not love Chuck, she loved him as he loved her and they were to be meant to spend the rest of their lives together. He was resolutely convinced of that fact. 

Betty it seemed was not, and foolishly it had taken him almost two years and an unfortunate confrontation to be make him aware of the fact. At some point he had lost his love and his best friend, and now that he was expected to become a husband, he had no idea how to begin mending their friendship.

And if Archie was being truly honest with himself, he still had not given up the idea of Betty and him as a romantic partnership, no matter how many times he envisioned her outraged face. He was convinced she was the only one that he would, or could, ever want. 

But that was a problem for another day, as the fanfare began, announcing the arrival of his future wife, and his current predicament into the hall. Two guards entered first, flanking the passageway and parting the crowd to form an aisle. One of the guards stood straight and announced the arrival of Miss Veronica Lodge, and Archie could not miss the titters of those commenting on her lack of title.

He cannot say that he had expectations of what Veronica was to look like, but it is fair to say he did not anticipate the confident woman who walked through the door. 

She was dressed in what at first glance appeared to be all black, an odd choice of color to meet her new kingdom, but as she approached and the sun hit the fabric, he noticed light reflecting off of small stones embroidered into her dress so that she literally sparkled with each step. Her hair was down, an uncommon style in this part of the world, and the darkness highlighted the golden tone of her skin and the deep brown of her eyes.

Archie was certain that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt a flare of guilt for thinking such thoughts, since he had been so steadfast in his love for Betty all the years prior. Overcompensating for his momentary appreciation of his future wife, he immediately started cataloguing possible flaws in her manner. Based on wardrobe alone she was clearly spoiled and privileged. Jughead had told him so many stories of the Western world, and how the titans of the free states would throw out their spoiled, untouched food to the awaiting starving masses. They had no care or concern for the majority of their country who broke their backs to make their luxurious wares, just to be starved and abandoned.

Veronica was the epitome of that class, and Archie determined that the only good she provided was her blood money, which would enrich and shelter their own abandoned masses.

These thoughts must have placed an unfortunate scowl on Archie’s face, since Veronica’s perfect smile lost its warmth and veracity. She still approached him with refined manners, and he took her hand and placed a single kiss on her knuckles. Her hands were freezing, he almost did not want to let go of them, simply so he could return feeling back into her fingers. She apparently did not share such feelings as she forcefully, but gracefully, removed her hand from his grasp. He instead took her arm and together they faced the hall as his father launched into a platitude laden speech about welcoming the future queen to their fair land. Archie took the time to occasionally glance appreciatively at Veronica, helping to cement the spectacle his father was putting on for the masses.

Admittedly he did not have to force those looks of appreciation too hard.

Instead of listening, Archie took the time to survey the room and the reactions of the assembled townspeople. There was a healthy mix of both nobility and the common class, most of whom looked skeptical but pleased with the couple. Their show was inspiring no unsightly leers or judgemental whispers and for that he was thankful. Many of the women were gossiping wildly, while pointing to their own dull garments, no doubt fascinated by Veronica’s unique dress. The men were also speaking amongst themselves, but their glances were furtive and quick, meaning Archie’s initial estimation of Veronica’s beauty was not over exaggerated. 

He chanced a glance to Jughead, curious to see if someone as beautiful as Veronica could catch even his stingy eye, but as he caught sight of him, he wasn’t sure if he had caught any glimpse of Veronica at all. He was staring, unwaveringly, at Betty. She did not shift her own gaze from the floor, but she was clearly aware of her audience as she played with the ring she always wore on her index finger. Archie was having a hard time understanding what events could have occured to inspire such a reaction, when his father finished his speech and dismissed the crowd. Betty bolted, with Jughead attempting to follow, but as the frequent loser of racing games in their youth, he knew he would never catch Betty.

He was not be able to confirm his suspicion though, as his father ushered Veronica and him into a small parlor away from the more public part of the castle. His father awkwardly gestured to the both of them, “I apologize for having your first meeting be so public, but morale is important for the kingdom at the moment. But please take this time to greet each other properly, and Archie I expect you in my chambers at next bell change.” The words were kind, but his expression was not. As his father left the room he noticed the guard standing outside. Undoubtedly he would be there for at least the next quarter of an hour, making sure that Archie both made an effort to get to know Veronica, and that he wouldn’t be tempted to get more intimately acquainted.

“Uh...good morning Veronica, I trust your travels went smoothly?” He could not make direct eye contact with her, the best he could manage were fleeting glimpses as he focused on one ear and then shifted to the other. It was her expression that had him out of balance. She was looking at him curiously, almost impishly, as if everything he said or did was comical or amusing. He would have preferred she look indifferent or bored by him.

“My travels went well.” 

She said it leadingly, there were clearly things she wanted to ask him, to tell him, but she opted instead to have him continue to lead the conversation, a position he was clearly uncomfortable with. 

Veronica was toying with him.

Slightly affronted, Archie stood taller and managed to meet her dark gaze, “For that I am glad Miss Lodge, tell me, what has been your favorite part of the River Kingdom thus far?” He hoped the question would force her to reveal something, anything, about herself.

“I arrived under darkness, I cannot say I have seen enough to have a meaningful opinion,” her tone was light but her words were laced with double meaning, a meaning that was completely lost on Archie. Instead, he was frustrated by her flippant response.

Seeing his lack of understanding Veronica quickly added, “But I look forward to discovering my new kingdom your highness, perhaps you can start by showing me your favorite places?” It was then that she smiled her first genuine smile, so warm he was certain that it could melt her ice cold fingers. He was about to suggest heading to the stables, where he could show her his favorite horses and hounds, but glancing at her dress realized that all those animals he loved would probably disgust her. 

“I am afraid Miss Lodge that my tastes are not as refined as yours,” he managed an embarrassed smile, reverting to his previous tactic of avoiding eye contact. 

“Please your highness, you can call me Veronica,” she said with such kindness, it was at odds with the spoiled princess he had already resolved her to be. It occurred to him then that it did not matter who she was or what she had been. She, like Archie, agreed to this marriage and was doing her best to make the most of this difficult situation. They were strangers, but in three weeks time would be bound together in marriage and service to this kingdom. He owed her the small gratitude of civility.

“As long as you call me Archie, Veronica.” Mustering the last of his courage he looked into her eyes and was pleased to find a look of surprise apparent on her features.

“Archie,” she said it slowly, as if savoring the word, “the name suits you.”

They stood in silence for a few moments until Veronica’s glance passed to the doorway noticing that the guard had finally left his post. 

“I believe that’s your cue to go meet your father.” They exited into the hallway, embarking in separate directions after brief, polite farewells. 

After a few paces, Archie stopped and waited a few breaths before turning.

“Veronica!” 

She  turned around so fast so she almost lost her footing. Her brief stumble so at odds with her controlled persona.

“There is a path alongside Sweetwater river...there are some falls and streams...that’s where...maybe I would...start there, looking for your favorite place.”

She smiled so wide, but quickly schooled her features with a polite grin. 

“I will. Thank you...Archie.”

***

Toni was rather disgruntled to observe the masses filing away from the castle as she approached. She enjoyed drama and forced formality, and the parading of the arranged queen in front of that simple ginger would have been a sight to behold.

Not that she regretted her reason for tardiness. She had planned to leave at dawn, just as the sun neared the horizon, but Cheryl had lured her back into her bed for a proper goodbye.

That was how their few days had passed together, blissfully free of her parents (off “mourning” in some vacation manor in the north of the Forest Kingdom) and wrapped in each others caresses and lips. Her and Cheryl had never been timid about their need to be with each other when they were, finally, physically sharing the same space. She saw Cheryl maybe four times a year, and she was impossible to resist.

But they had been friends first, and confidantes. All of Cheryl’s secrets and pain had bled into the letters she sent Toni almost every morning. And while Toni was more than happy to fall into bed with her redheaded love, it was clear to Toni that Cheryl was keeping her feelings and emotions closed off, not to be discussed. Toni was not keen on critiquing her grieving process, and she would do whatever she could to ease her suffering.

Through all of the misery at Thornhill castle was Jason, her buoy amidst her parents’ cruelty and scorn. Jason was always there, reminding Cheryl that she was worthy of love when Betty or Toni could not be there to do it themselves. It's not grand events of life that shape who we are, or more importantly our vulnerabilities. It's the slow ebb and flow of they day in and day out wearing away at our psyches and leaving a newly formed person in its wake. Jason made sure the damage her parents slowly but surely incurred was minimal, and the sensational human that Cheryl was meant to be came to fruition.

Cheryl was fire and self-assurance, but no human is immune to the desperation of needing a parent’s love.

Once news of the impending wedding had reached Thornhill, they realized that they would have only a week before they would see each other again, so Cheryl insisted that Toni head to River castle on schedule. She was convinced that Archie’s stupidity would lead him into some unfortunate encounter with the best woman in the River Kingdom. Lord knows their friend had already had a lifetime's worth of grief from that princely menace.

So with the knowledge that Cheryl and her again would share the same space in less than two weeks, Toni encroached the River castle in a state of peace and curiosity. She was met at the gate by a stable boy who promptly relieved her of her animal and efficiently directed her to her quarters. She politely requested that someone bring her belongings to her chamber as she attended to some errands, to which they immediately complied. Upon request, she was also given complete but simple instructions on how to arrive at both Jug and Betty’s respective chambers. Such service.

As Toni neared the west wing her loyalties divided as she reached a split hallway, one lead towards the spire which housed Betty and the other towards her future sovereign. Chuckling slightly to herself, she took the left towards the spire. Jug would have to wait, Toni had priorities and sensitive information to attend to.

When she knocked softly at the door, she heard some rustling followed by an aggressively polite, “One moment!” Toni’s smile slowly started to widen to a full fledged cat-got-the-canary grin when a minute later Betty finally opened the door with a slight flush on her cheeks.

“Needing time to become decent Lady Coop?”

“Toni!” Betty rushed forward to greet her friend with more enthusiasm than was typical, almost bowling Toni over with affection. She pulled Toni inside and quickly shut the door, as she spied some nosy maids looking in on the commotion.

“Hold there Coop, just because you are beautiful does not mean I will be swayed to step out on my lady,” Betty rolled her eyes and poured Toni a glass of water, assuming she would need it after her several hours’ journey. Ever the hostess was Lady Elizabeth Cooper.

“Thanks,” she took a long sip of water, feeling it quench her bones before she continued, “Given that rather aggressive, though wholly welcome greeting, I take it has been a rough few weeks?” Toni’s tone was teasing but her expression softened genuinely. She may not have lost a sibling like Cheryl, but her sister was almost killed and she had to witness the gory event firsthand.

“I managed to keep my sanity intact through a murder and my parent’s respective deceptions and breakdowns, but three days with those two princes and I am losing my grip on sanity.” She took a sip of water and stared forlornly at the goblet, as if willing it to turn into wine.

Both of Toni’s eyebrows raised at the outburst, Betty was usually religious on being gracious and giving people the benefit of the doubt. Those two boys must have done a number on her poor friend, and indignation started it's slow build in Toni’s chest.

“Well I would expect it out of the ginger, but I am disappointed in Jug, I would have thought I had trained his manners better by now.”

Betty’s eyes widened and she moved to sit next to Toni on the lounge, immediately regretting her unedited speech.

“Oh Toni, you are one of his knights, I never should have said anything in the first place, I do not want to put you in a difficult position.”

“In matters of government, politics, and battle my loyalty is unwavering towards the prince,” she paused to take Betty’s hand, “In matters of love and friendship, you and Cheryl take precedent.” Betty’s expression clouded and softened at the admission. “Now tell me, what did those two fools do?”

“Well, Prince Jones…” 

“HA! Prince Jones?!”

“I do not know, or frankly particularly like him well enough to call him by his ridiculous nickname,” Betty countered.

“Fair enough,” Toni gestured for her to continue but could not keep herself from chuckling as she sipped her water.

“Anyway, Prince Jones, has been a little too aggressive and slightly forward in his accusations and assumptions about what I know regarding Jason’s murder.”

“How so…?” 

“He presumed that I knew who committed the murder and that my sister and I are harlots,” Betty knew she was unfairly paraphrasing, but she was not feeling entirely forgiving at the moment.

“Oh Jones, always the charmer,” Toni said soothingly, trying to abate Betty’s anger, but she made a note to have a conversation with the prince about how he spoke to witnesses and ladies. 

“His behavior is nothing compared to Prince Archibald’s,” Betty quietly changed topics. She paused to set down her water goblet as if she couldn’t be trusted to not throw the contents while recalling the story. To be safe Toni followed her lead and waited for her to continue.

“He asked me to be his mistress once he marries Miss Lodge.”

At first Toni did nothing. Her expression did not change. She did not move. She did not breathe. Betty was unsure if she heard her and opened her mouth to repeat the statement when Toni held up her hand, indicating that she needed a moment. When she finally did speak her tone was low and cold.

“If I am understanding correctly, the same man-child who publicly accused your fiance of taking advantage of you, believed it was proper to ask you to give up marriage and a life of your own to be his sexual companion?”

Betty wrinkled her nose at the bluntness, but nodded her head in confirmation.

“Are you alright, Coop?”

“I am angry, and offended, but yes I turned him down with no possible room for reconsidering.” She visibly eased, relieved to be able to confide this horrid information to someone.

That ease did not extend to Toni, who looked like a cat ready to pounce, “Do I need to make sure he understands that statement?” 

Betty understood what she was asking, Toni was one of Prince Jones’ inner circle knights for a reason. She was fierce, but furtive, so that no one would discover any threats on a future royal. Betty looked tempted by the offer, but she was confident in her own refusal, “He understands, though if he regresses you will be the first to learn of his mistake.”

They sat in companionable silence for several moments with Betty’s hand in Toni’s as they both relaxed a little.

“Toni, how is Cheryl?” Betty asked it quietly, she had wanted to ask the minute Toni entered her chambers, but did not want to pry. Cheryl had been guarded in her letters and Bety hoped she had opened up with her partner. Sensing the unasked question Toni just shook her head and sadly replied, “She’s still not ready to talk about it. But she is still getting up in the morning, and she is still pure fire,” Betty smiled and laughed at that. “I hope when she arrives for the wedding where she has both of us she will open up a bit more, she won’t heal with all of that pain bottled up.” Toni said the last part quietly almost to herself.

Talking about Cheryl prompted Toni to address another point of important business. “There is something else I need to share with you, I would have opened with it first but I knew you would want to chase down the lead as soon as I gave it to you.” Betty’s face morphed from offended to resigned guilt at the truth of the statement as Toni got up and went over to her bag, pulling out a letter from Cheryl. 

“Cher wanted this written down so you could store it with the rest of your evidence, but I will just tell you what it says. While her parents were away, a notice came from an inn not too far away from here, asking if they would like to have the horse Prince Jason left there delivered to Thornhill castle.”

Betty’s eyes widened at the information, “Why would Jason stop to change horses so close to Cooper manor...unless…”

“Unless he needed to stop there for a reason.” Toni finished for her.

Betty burst with exhilaration as she rushed to her armoire to pull out her riding trousers and boots. Before she went to change, she rushed to Toni and enveloped her in a hug that challenged the intensity of her initial greeting, “Toni, thank you thank you, I have been waiting for a lead and you and Cheryl found it!”

“And now you have to leave to go chase it down,” at Betty’s apologetic glance she added, “Go go! I need to go report to Prince Jones anyways.”

With a quick kiss to the cheek Toni exited and made her way towards Jughead’s quarters, a little more cross with him than she would have been if she chose to visit him first. As she neared the door to his chambers she paused to collect herself. Jughead was not only her prince, but usually a close friend. She tried her best to give him the benefit of the doubt before she knocked on his chamber door. It opened almost immediately. 

“Well Topaz, how nice of you to grace us with your presence. How was the she-devil?” Jughead smirked as he moved aside to let Toni into his chamber. 

“Grieving,” Toni replied scowling at his insensitivity. Jughead raised his hands in surrender and apology as he headed back to his makeshift desk by the large window. “I am glad you were there for her then,” he added genuinely. He may not enjoy Cheryl, but he was not blind to how happy she made Toni. 

“Do you have a post for me?” 

While Toni appreciated Jughead’s attempt at sentimental comfort, after that comment and her conversation with Betty, she wanted to keep her interactions with Jug as short as possible until she had a cooler head.

Jughead briefly glanced out the window before returning his gaze to Toni, “Sweets has the rotation schedule, we take the overnight and morning watches from the castle guards, as that is when we expect there to be any possible threat, if there happens to still be a threat.” Jug said it flippantly and rightly so. There was no threat to River Castle, the murder of Jason Blossom was isolated and purposeful. They were merely here for visual security.

Toni nodded and turned to leave, but Jughead motioned for her to sit for a minute. Toni did, but she was suspicious, Jug was not one for chit-chat when there was work to be done.

“You are friends with Lady Elizabeth are you not?” Jughead tried to say it nonchalantly but his entire stance was far too eager, and Toni bristled given the new information Betty had given her.

“I am.”

Jughead waited for her to ask why he was inquiring, or continue the statement in any way, but Toni would not abide.

“Do you know how she is progressing on the case?” Jughead again flicked his eyes to the window, feigning disinterest in whatever answer Toni had to give.

“I would assume that she gave you all that she had for leads, Betty is not one for concealing the truth” Toni stated, conveniently leaving out that she had just given her a new lead to follow only several minutes ago. She would communicate whatever Betty found out to him once she got back. 

Toni subconsciously looked towards her left in the general direction of Betty’s chambers when she caught a glimpse of Betty herself through the large windows, as she rushed out of her chambers.

The view was clear and unobstructed. You could see through her bed chamber into her main sitting room where Toni and Betty had been gossipping only moments before. Jughead must have seen Toni visit Betty and now was correctly deducing Coop’s clear interest to head out somewhere based on that conversation.

While that realization was important it was not as pressing as the face that  Betty had just been changing into her riding gear and Jughead had clearly been peeping in on the view.

“Jughead Jones. How dare you gawk at a woman without her awareness or consent. What kind of lecherous, ill-behaved – “

“Careful Topaz, remember who you are speaking to,” Jughead stood and glared at her audacity, but Toni was not to be cowed.

“No, I do not care how many kingdoms you rule,  you have no right to leer at my friend while she is in a state of undress...let me amend that statement. You have no right to leer at her in any state at any time, are we clear?” Toni was unforgiving and unwavering in her lashing.

Jughead had the good grace to look somewhat guilty, “I do not look when she – or at least I try – it’s not on purpose, alright?” He seemed to deflate at his last comment, which did little to tame the look of indignation on Toni’s face. 

“But Toni, that does not change the fact that she is clearly on a lead, a lead it appears you gave her. A lead you are now keeping from me,” Jughead gained confidence as he regained the moral high ground.

While Toni was still not completely over his creeping glances, but she relented that this was information she should have also given Jughead. If the Serpents wanted to leave with a bonus commission Jughead would have to track down the murderer himself. But Toni knew that Betty was just as capable as Jughead, if not more so.

“I believe she would prefer to investigate without the constant accusations towards her involvement in the murder and integrity of her family.”

“She told you about that?”  The look of guilt returned to Jughead’s face, as he again involuntarily let his eyes flicker to Betty’s bedroom, though she was already gone.

“She did, it seems you have been quite the gentleman towards her during your stay,” she also glanced through the window, but her glance was fleeting and laced with accusation.

Jughead sat back down at his desk at placed his hands on the wood in front of him, peering at Toni with a look pleading look, “My words fail me when I speak to her. Believe me when I tell you that I understand that I am entirely in the wrong and I would be grateful to have the opportunity to apologize to her.” 

He meant that sincerely but added, “Toni, I am your prince and you will tell me where she is headed so I can amend my previous mistakes and ensure I discover whatever she does.”

Toni was livid, but he was right, she could not deny him this information. She relayed the contents of Chery’s letter  to Jughead as she had to Betty. 

Toni slightly hoped she had given Betty enough of a head start. Jughead was already in full gear, so he was just equipping some subtle weaponry when Toni turned to face him in the doorway.

“Jug, Betty is one of the best people I know. Be better to her.” She looked at him seriously but kindly. The behavior that Jug had been displaying was out of character for him. He had the capability of being in proper manners with Betty, and Lord knows she could use a reprieve.

But even Toni was surprised by the look of genuine earnestness on Jughead’s face as he turned to face her.

“Believe me Toni, I have every intention to.”

***

It was alarming how fast Jughead moved to get to the stables and embark towards the inn to which Elizabeth was also destined for. There was only one logical path there, and Elizabeth had no reason to think that anyone was following her. He edged his horse faster than was most likely necessary to expedite their meeting. After he had left the densely populated center of the castle’s township, he finally saw a flash of blonde hair astride a handsome black horse. She had on a crimson riding cloak, and she stood out amongst the rapidly graying skyline. 

She was moving quickly, but was not possessed by the same madness that he was, and as soon as the rapid drum of hoofbeats was within earshot, Elizabeth slowed her horse and turned to find the source of the commotion. Jughead took advantage of the pause to put himself and his horse in Elizabeth’s path, urging his horse, eager for respite, to face Elizabeth. Elizabeth tried to shift her horse past him, but he caught her steed’s reins holding both of them captive.

To say she looked irritated would do no justice to the complete compilation of body language currently on display. Her mouth was drawn into a tight, thin line that was almost white, matching the white of her knuckles gripping at the reins. Her entire body’s tension seemed to reside in her shoulders, but not stiff, instead taut, like a cat ready to pounce. Her eyes however looked unsurprised and bored, as if she should have anticipated this intruder and ridden at a more expedient pace.

“Prince Jones, good afternoon,” she said it as if she were passing him in the castle passageways, even managing a tight smile.

“Jughead, please, Lady Elizabeth,” he found that now the adrenaline was wearing down, he was becoming rapidly out of breath and needed to take a moment to gain his bearings. Lady Elizabeth, though still annoyed, seem amused by this.

“In need of water Prince Jones?” Jughead tried to glare at her for her continued formality, but his wheezing lessened the affect considerably. He did however gratefully take the flask she handed to him and quickly consumed half the contents.

“I know you are on way you to investigate the inn not far from the duchy.”

One day, hopefully sooner rather than later, Jughead hoped to have a conversation with Lady Elizabeth where he did not open with a rude and accusatory comment. Today was apparently not that day.

“You will have to forgive me, your highness, if I wished to pursue this lead without the company of an individual who seems convinced that I am involved with the crime somehow,” she accused, but softened her expression as she added, “I would have communicated my discoveries to you once I returned.”

Jughead could not help himself, “You would have voluntarily started a conversation with me?” He felt accomplished as he saw a ghost of a real smile shade the corners of her mouth.

“Toni is more than capable of relaying messages.”

Jughead responded with a lighthearted scoff, but their conversation soon fell into a heavy silence. He needed to say this right, and he needed to not confuse his words or meanings. He took a deep breath and met Elizabeth’s curious eyes.

“I am sorry, Lady Elizabeth, for the nature in which I communicated with you these past few days. I have never been good with words, spoken out loud,” he gestured in the air letting go of her horse’s reins. The horse startled by the sudden movement and Elizabeth’s laughter at the clumsy statement, started to move forward but she stopped him, still meeting Jughead’s eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“Sorry, I am actually much better with written communication...perhaps I should have written you a letter instead…” he muttered, casting his glance and thoughts elsewhere. Elizabeth cleared her throat to regain his attention.

Her expression had changed, she looked at him with such an open expression, closer to the demeanor she possessed when they first met, before he managed to show how much of a dolt he was. 

“Anyway I do not believe that you are involved in this crime, in fact I was impressed by the diligence and thoughtfulness you put into finding the true culprit. In my experience, finding the truth of these matters is often easier when you have a second mind to respond to your hunches and theories. I am hoping you will be that person for me, and in turn I can be that person for you.” Jughead silently congratulated himself on getting through the speech without insulting her or her family, but he was still uneasy, watching Elizabeth’s face of deep thought and consideration.

“I appreciate and accept your apology, but to be frank I am not sure I have enough trust to share all of my thoughts with you,” Jughead tried very hard to keep his expression passive, “I will however let you accompany me to this inn and save Toni the misfortune of playing messenger.” She gave him a smile and started to move her horse forward at an efficient though not trying pace.

Jughead was immensely relieved that she was willing to be civil to him, but he still felt out of favor with her. Everything about Elizabeth’s demeanor was welcoming, and desirable, he had this insatiable need to be in good graces with her but could not intelligently explain why. He thought of starting a conversation with her to further build goodwill, but given his previous conversations thought better of it. They did not have to ride in silence for long,observing the inn just past the crest of a slight incline.

Looking towards each other they nodded in silent agreement and sped their respective animals forward up the incline. 

As they neared the entrance, a young stable boy no more than a decade into life rushed forward eager to take their horses, quickly getting them to shelter. The wind had picked up considerably during their journey and Jughead looked up with unease towards the darkening sky. As he followed Elizabeth through the entrance of the inn, he noticed that the weather had wrestled some strands free from Elizabeth’s plait. He had to resist the urge to tuck them back in.

There was a large room to the right, filled with tables sparsely populated by the inns tenants and assorted passersby. Elizabeth approached a woman serving the food and asked for the proprietor, she gave Elizabeth a wildly gesticulating response that Jughead could not hear, and headed for the back. Before Elizabeth could update him, a short portly man rounded the corner.

“Lookin’ fer a room, o’ fer sum grub?”

Jughead cursed leaving his crown back at the castle, it tended to loosen lips of those he encountered, but before he could give it a go without his safety headwear, Elizabeth stopped him with a hand on his arm, and a warm smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, sir, I was hoping you would be so kind to help us, a little over two weeks ago a gentleman stopped by here on an errand, he would have been tall, and had hair that was just flaming orange…” she continued her description as the man slowly found himself lost to Elizabeth’s voice. Jughead had to keep his mouth from falling open at the pure ease in which she cast a spell on this man. She would use gentle but non invasive touches, and always paused at the right moments to get his reaction, drawing him in and making him feel special, hypnotized by Elizabeth’s charm. Jughead was rather hypnotized himself.

The man had a moment of clear recognition causing him to grab Elizabeth’s arm with a little too much excitement, instinctually urging Jughead to step forward.

“‘O yer the Cooper lady, yeah? Patty...Posey...Polly yeah?”

Elizabeth shot Jughead a warning glance but he was not about to argue, being mistaken for Polly was a welcome bit of luck for them.

The proprietor hurried to the back room, and came out several minutes later with a large worn tome. 

“Good ‘o yah ta get dis ledgah today, was gonna throw er out tomorrah…say what was da feller’s name? Did he haf anything ter do wit dat mess at yer duchy?”

“Ledger?” Jughead countered, distracting the proprietor from the rest of his statement, gaining his notice for the first time in the their visit, and in turn his scorn. Elizabeth for her part, mouthed a quick thank you for his diversion.

“Yah...we keep one just like ‘er for da inn’s accounts,” looking at it again he saw the irregularly long pages designating passages of time. Why would Jason Blossom leave a ledger for Polly at an inn so close to her home? Why did he not bring it with him when he went to see her? Why did he have the book in his possession to begin with?

His train of thought was interrupted by a flash of lightning immediately followed by a clap of thunder. Their assembled trio turned to the window to observe a large, dark, storm rolling their way.

“Looks ter me like that squall will roll intah the night...I’ll get ya squared away with a room fer da night...that’s not a mess yah want ta be lost in.”

Elizabeth clarified that they would be needing two rooms, which pleased the man greatly as he bustled off to make arrangements. Elizabeth sighed and barely chanced Jughead a glance as she moved over to the adjacent parlor which housed a large fireplace currently being stoked into a healthy burn by a maid. The sound of the crackling flames were very quickly drowned out by the sheets of rain that began to fall on their surroundings, confirming their isolation at this damn inn. Elizabeth made no acknowledgement of the rain, nor Jughead as he took the seat opposite of her near the fire.

She kept the ledger tucked close to her side but appeared to be preoccupied by the flames in the hearth and the rain drenching their shelter.

Jughead knew better.

“Care to peer inside that ledger Lady Elizabeth, see what was so important to Jason Blossom he felt compelled to hide it here?” He opted for a tone for co-conspiracy. He was sincere in continuing his investigation in tandem with Lady Elizabeth, but sensed her hesitation to share their new find with him.

“I believed I said we were working on building trust,” Elizabeth softly responded, “Trust me to tell you what I find in the ledger once we get back to the castle.” She met his eyes then, leaning forward to place the book in her stachel, challenging him to defy her.

Jughead had learned enough from his previous mistakes in conversation not to push, and instead to let her guide the pace of their friendship, or what he hoped would become their friendship.

“As you wish, Lady Elizabeth,” her mouth parted slightly in surprise and she flashed him one of those true smiles he had started to look forward to seeing. What he was not going to concede however was her company. They were housed in an inn with rather unseemly looking fellows and she seemed determined to not retire to the safety of her room until actual slumbering hours.

The proprietor came to give them the keys to their rooms and directions to arrive at their doorways in a timely manner. He was followed closely by the same maid Elizabeth had approached earlier, and Jughead was pleased to see hearty meals laden on a large tray. He and Elizabeth thanked her, and then they were both gone, leaving he and Elizabeth alone as the only occupants of the parlor.

“Perhaps you should take your meal in your room, Lady Elizabeth, you would have more peace and privacy there.”

“I am fine where I am, thank you,” she said it as both a warning and invitation. Challenging him to both leave her alone and stay and not make a fool of himself.

“As am I, Lady Elizabeth.”

***

Betty was equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the spectacle that lay before her. 

She had eaten well until she was full, rather impressed with the quality the inn had to offer but rather overwhelmed by the amount of sustenance they believed one person could consume. A single meal consisted of a bowl of beef stew, pheasant pie, roasted potatoes, stewed carrots, three different types of rolls and a goblet filled to the brim with wine. Out of courtesy, Betty had tried a bite of almost everything, but kept her complete meal to the stew, carrots, and one roll.

The inn however had met its match with Prince Jones. He had consumed the entirety of the meal before him by the time Betty started picking leisurely at her roll. His eyes kept glancing from Betty, to her uneaten food, to the fire and back to Betty repeating the pattern in some sort of secret code.

“Prince Jones?”

He let out a heavy sigh, “I see no Prince Jones here, but Jughead will happily answer.”

“Prince Jughead?” Betty had to admit she enjoyed the scowl that her moniker inspired. “Would you like to have the rest of my meal?”

As soon as she finished her sentence he lunged for her tray and quickly erased the contents from the surface. As Betty herself took her last bite of roll, Jughead had piled the final morsels of the pie and potatoes onto the third roll and swallowed it whole. 

“Could you even taste any bite of that?” It was slightly disgusting sure, but she found it compelling that someone who clearly was brought up to have impeccable table manners abandoned them when propriety was no longer necessary.

“Apologies, my lady, I tend to get rather ravenous when I miss my midday meal,” he blushed and seemed genuinely apologetic for his behavior. Betty simply smiled, and he went back to being very interested in the fire. 

Betty glanced at the ledger poking out of the stachel by her feet. She wanted more than anything to start pouring over its contents, but was wary to bring Jughead into her investigation. He had been far more hospitable this afternoon and evening, but their silences were still awkward, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that his kindness was a means to an end.

That end being accusing herself or the Cooper family of something nefarious.

The hour was still too early to retire to bed, so needing a chore to fill the time, she reached into her satchel hoping she had left her book in the bag from the day before. When she grasped onto it's hand-bound spine she let out a little sigh of pleasure that luckily seemed to go unnoticed by her companion.

She had been reading for several minutes when she felt his gaze on her. Not a fleeting glance, but an examining stare. When she looked up to meet his eyes he was starting curiously at the book, and at her.

“Is that…” he lowered his voice as if he were communicating a precious secret, “an original novel?”

Betty was surprised he recognized one by sight. Printing presses were common in almost all parts of the world, but they were kept busy by printing cultural lore and educational texts for science, philosophy, mathematics and of course history. Betty loved these texts and treasured receiving and devouring any new volume that was delivered to the duchy, but it was the original novels she craved. Works of fiction, or creative retellings of real events sometimes made it into wide circulation with the presses, but very rarely; more likely, they were made into original novels. The stories would be handwritten on parchment, handbound in leather and sold to book traders. Because the process to produce the stories was time consuming and not profitable, the author would only make one or two copies, thus earning the term “original novel.”

Betty’s father did not enjoy reading the rare books, but he valued the status and reputation that it gave him. The Cooper duchy was home to more than 300 original texts and it was because her father demanded that anyone who was serious enough to do business with him should be serious enough to track down these uncommon treasures. The Duke’s pride was Betty’s incredible gain, she got lost in stories about sea creatures and epic battles. She cried at the tragic star crossed lovers and swooned over passionate love affairs. When reading about phantoms and mysteries she would gasp and have to keep the lantern burning down to the wick when she went to sleep at night. Every experience was an escape and adventure enriching her routine and controlled life.

Rather than share all of this with the prince however, Betty simply stated, “Yes, luckily my father collects them.”

His eyes widened with disbelief but all he asked was, “What is it about?”

Normally when someone asks that question, they are filling space and silence, not really curious about the story, more interested in keeping up the appearance of politeness. But the Serpent Prince was staring at her as if he had traversed a desert and she was made entirely of water. Betty had always loved telling stories, and she was thrilled to have a captive audience. 

“It’s about two children, a rich boy and a poor girl who are friends in a small village in a Northern kingdom by the mountains. They spend their days spying on all of the townspeople learning their secrets, and laughing or whispering about their follies. When the little girl is orphaned, no one wants to take on the burden of a fortuneless child, and even though the little boy begs his parents to take her in, they instead organize a group of villagers to chase her into the mountains where she would no doubt meet her doom. A little over a decade later, the village is preparing for the arranged marriage of that same little boy, now a grown man. As it nears the big day, strange things start to happen around the village, precious heirlooms go missing, strange messages are left inside people’s homes, and old secrets are revealed.” Betty leaned back and smiled slightly af the prince.

“So what happened? Was it the little girl’s ghost? Was she alive after all this time? Was it someone else entirely? And what were the secrets?”

Betty laughed at his enthusiasm but made a motion of locking her lips with a key, “If I told you that I would ruin the whole story.”

Jughead scrunched his face a little at her in frustration, but it quickly melted away and morphed into that mischievous grin she used to loathe, only now it made her curious. He leaned forward a bit in his chair, “I am always in search for original, back at Southside castle I have about 100 or so stored in our library. I’ve never met anyone else with a passion for them, until now.”

He made sure he had Betty’s undivided attention as he sat back in his chair and continued, “One of my favorites is from the Western Kingdom, about a missing pet jaguar.”

“Who would be foolish enough to keep a jaguar as a pet?” 

“Westerner’s who believe that cats are for peasants, now are you going to keep interrupting my story?” He jestingly scolded, failing to hide his smirk. Betty blushed and gestured both hands silently forward for him to continue.

As he told the story about the constable’s quest to find the thief, describing each consequent suspect with a more ridiculous and nefarious motive than the last, Betty was taken aback by the entire change in his demeanor. As children, Jughead could barely string more than a few words together at a time, and when he tried for more advanced speech he seemed to tumble over himself in self doubt. This was so different, so self assured and confident. But unlike his self assurance in their previous, heated conversations, he was entirely open. His body language and gestures all wanting to share this story with her that he so clearly loved.

He moved on to describing the climatic scene, where the constable had gathered all the suspects for a feast at the jaguar owner’s house where he planned to reveal who committed the act and what fate befell the jaguar when he stopped telling the story.

Betty blew out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, “So who did it? It had to have been the thin man? And what of the poor jaguar?”

Jughead made the same locking gesture to his mouth that Betty had made previously, “Now if I told you that it would spoil the ending.” Betty scoffed but nodded appreciatively of game meeting game.

“Well your highness I just so happen to know a tale of another prince who was too cocky for his own good…”

It continued like that for the next several hours, as the sun surrendered trying to light the darkened sky and the fire became the primary light source in the parlor. Jughead and Betty traded stories and laughter, each time refusing to reveal the ending of the stories, inspiring frustrations that lead into wild theoretical discussions.

It wasn’t until Betty was squinting to see Jughead’s face that she realized the fire was fading to smoldering embers, and no maid had been around to stoke it for hours. Indeed she had not heard the bell change for some time, and both the parlor and adjacent dining hall were deserted.

Sensing what Betty had been observing Jughead sheepishly gestured towards Betty, “It seems I have kept you up well into the evening hours, I apologize.”

“Nonesene! I cannot remember enjoying myself this greatly since...well it has been a while. I will somehow shake the truth out of you about whatever happened to the siren and the man she finally fell in love with.”

Even in the darkness she could see his smile, “Why Lady Elizabeth I do believe you are a hopeless romantic.”

“There’s something so tragic and beautiful about doomed romances.” Although Betty tried to say it lightly, it held more weight than she intended.

“Indeed,” was all Jughead responded, never breaking eye contact with her.

“Promise me you will tell me the ending?”

“I promise to get the book to you in person, it’s much better to read the whole story and experience the ending yourself,” was Jughead’s quiet reply. It was such a simple and on the surface innocent promise, but it caused something to stir in Betty’s chest that made her short of breath.

Jughead grabbed Betty’s bag and offered his arm out to her, to help guide her up the stairs of the darkened inn and to their adjacent rooms. 

“There is a small study located in between your quarters and mine, it's rarely used as neither of the Andrews royalty are rather studious,” Betty began, subconsciously holding onto Jughead’s arm tighter than before, “After we return tomorrow and freshen up will you meet me there to go over the ledger? It may take us a while to find a pattern, but I believe you are right,  it would be easier to solve with two minds instead of one.” Betty said it so logically, as if any stranger pulled from the village would do, but it was clear Jughead’s mind was the one she wanted.

“Yes,” Jughead whispered almost immediately, and then seeming to regain his voice, “No place I would rather be.”

They had reached Betty’s door and she asked him if he would wait a moment for her. He nodded as Betty disappeared into the clean but simple room, little more than a bed, lamp and chamberpot. A few seconds later Betty returned with her original novel in her hands.

“Here,” she held out the book to him, “So you can discover the ending on your own.”

At first he just stared at the book, not making any indication that he intended to take object, causing Betty to almost shrink back into the room with embarrassment. After several bated breaths, Jughead slowly reached out for the book and took it gently from Betty.

“I am uncertain how to properly thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I hope the words do your beautiful storytelling justice.” Betty hoped the the dim lighting from the hallway torches hid her blush.

Jughead turned to go and Betty was overtaken by the overwhelming need to stop him, and to take his hand. She did both with one action and he turned to look at her with confusion, and something else she could not identify in the flickering light of the torches.

“Jughead,” he smiled only slightly at her first instance of using his preferred name, “those who borrow my books should call me Betty.”

Jughead seemed to not have any words left to say as he simply nodded and smiled so brightly she felt it could light the entire hallway. She bid him goodnight and shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a few moments. For the first time in over a fortnight, Betty was excited to face the dawning day.

***

Jughead sat in the bed holding the book she had given not yet wanting to begin the story so late in the night but still not ready to succumb to sleep, wrapped as he still was in the story of this evening.

Jughead had scoured every market on every assignment where he had ever been stationed to find such unique stories. And each time he discovered one, he fell into its world and its language, showing him freedom and beauty he himself did not see. He kept every one he found, often reading them dozens of times when he failed to acquire a new edition for his collection.

But as he sat there slowly giving in to sleep he was uncertain which treasure he valued more, the precious book in his hand or the simple name on his lips.

“Betty.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most exciting thing about Betty letting Jughead call her that is I no longer have to remember to call her Elizabeth when writing in his perspective. Small victories!!
> 
> Also in what I think will become a recurring segment, I wanted to give you some recommendations and bonus things from each chapter...you know in case it takes me three weeks to update again. Yikes. Anyway.
> 
> Recs from Kez:  
> 1\. This fic is inspired by one of my all time favorite Bughead fics by ForASecondThereWedWon called Sweetwater Boundary: A Riverdale Western. Its so beautifully written, their sense of time and space is breathtaking. Also I don't think I would have the chutzpah to write a period fic if I had not read it so beautifully done before. Go give it a read!
> 
> 2\. When Jug and Betty are sharing stories I almost referenced my favorite story from Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo, but thought (funny enough) it would give away the ending. Those stories are great thought. (The last one is my fave)
> 
> 3\. There is a heavy handed reference to the Thin Man in here. If you like old movies give it a go.
> 
> Until next time! Please comment and kudos if you feel so inclined!


	5. Rumour Has It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this is self-proofed. Enjoy!

Archie Andrews never fancied himself an indecisive person, but he would concede that the journey to a decision did not always run smoothly.

The path to this particular decision was a tumultuous and dramatic one, fueled greatly by the events of the previous evening and now this early morning. 

It started with dinner, now that Veronica had arrived it was to be a party of five for the meal, but once the food was served, it was just the Andrews family (present and future) seated at the table. After two members of the castle staff were sent to confirm that both Jughead and Betty’s chambers were empty of their presence, concern started to creep into both the King and Prince Andrew's’ faces. They both cared for and were protective of their missing dinner companions, and they entered quiet conversation, questioning the other of any possible whereabouts.

When the two servants came back and confirmed their absence, Veronica spoke for the first time regarding the situation, “Where would they go together?”

It was an innocent enough question, but it left other uncomfortable questions in its wake. As far as Archie knew, Jughead and Betty had no real relationship, save the odd interaction he witnessed earlier. Certainly they were not friendly enough to go gallivanting together. Or at least that was Archie’s assumption. 

“We do not know for certain that they are together,” was Archie’s reply more to himself than to Veronica, but her look of skepticism was still delivered straight to him.

His father dispatched the servants on new errands; one to the stables and the other to find whichever Serpent was on post at the front gate tonight. 

The three of them stared at their food, Archie and Fred starved with worry, while the awkwardness and terseness dampened Veronica’s own appetite. 

The servant from the stables returned first, with a chubby cheeked stable boy in hand. He seemed rather overwhelmed to be in the presence of royalty, his cheeks made even more prominent by his blush and shortness of breath. But before he passed out from stress, he confirmed that both Betty and Jughead had taken horses the previous afternoon and had yet to return. In a brief fit of confidence he added that no sane rider would take their horse out in the storm. The King thanked the boy whose eyes widened so comically, Archie thought they might pop out of their sockets. As fled the room he nearly ran headfirst into a female Serpent that Archie had never seen before.

“Good evening your highness, your grace, Miss Lodge,” the woman greeted everyone in turn. She was calm and Archie thought too good looking to be a knight. She had smooth, caramel colored skin,accented beautifully by a long plait of light brown hair with a dark pink ribbon braided through the strands. 

“I understand that you are inquiring of the whereabouts of Prince Jones and Lady Elizabeth? I believe I have some information for you.” Again, Archie was struck by how calm and undisturbed she was, almost annoyed with them for their worry, inspiring an annoyance of his own.

“Indeed we are Miss…” 

“Topaz. Toni Topaz.”

“Thank you,” the King stated, showing no irritation on his own account, “Please tell us what you know.”

“The prince requested that I visit Thornhill castle before arriving at my post here in the River Kingdom. While there – “

“How does this have any bearing on the current whereabouts of Jughead and Betty?” Archie interjected feeling jumpy with unease. His father scolded him to be patient, gesturing for Toni to continue. Veronica’s head snapped to Archie, and when Archie met her calculating stare he realized his mistake with formality when speaking of Jughead and  _ Lady  _ Elizabeth.

Toni also was glaring at him, with a hatred he was sure that his comment did not earn, thus Archie was distracted by attempting to recall any previous unfortunate encounters between the two of them, when she began recounting her information again.

“As I was saying, while at Thornhill, Princess Cheryl became privy to a possible, though not conclusive lead regarding her brother’s death. I communicated this lead, of course, to the prince who wished to investigate immediately. Not knowing the path to take, I suggested he ask Lady Elizabeth to accompany him, as she is well acquainted with the terrain. Encountering the storm, I am sure they have taken shelter for the evening and will return as soon as they are able in the morning.”

Archie felt there was truth and falsehood to the statement, but it seemed to be good enough for his father who looked visually more relaxed on hearing this account as he thanked Toni. He was about to dismiss her, when Archie felt the need to inquire for further information.

“Why did you not send him to me? I know the terrain as well if not better than Bet– Lady Elizabeth. And why did you not inform the Constable immediately as it has to do with an unsolved crime?” Archie could feel his father’s exasperated and Veronica’s unreadable stares on him as he bared down on Toni.

She however was not intimidated, “I answer to my prince, and not to the constable, your grievance should be brought up with him. As for my suggestion of Lady Elizabeth as guide, she happens to be a friend and was a natural first choice.” Toni said all of this calmly, quietly, and confidently but her stare was cold and unyielding. Archie was hated by this person and he was uncertain how that came to be. Everyone liked him. Well except for Betty at the moment.

Oh.

Archie was silenced by her reply and only when his father sternly called his name, did he speak again.

“Thank you for your cooperation Miss Topaz, you may return to your post.”

Toni gave a curt bow and was gone from the room.

“Archibald, be seated, there is nothing further to be done this evening, if they have not returned by tomorrow we will send out a party, but they are both resourceful and intelligent people, I am sure they are fine.” 

With that, his father and Veronica resumed their now lukewarm meal, though Veronica kept glancing at Archibald with those unreadable stares of hers every few minutes.

Archie’s tenuous hold on logic was enough for him to know that his father was right, Jughead and Betty were smart, capable individuals who, especially if they were together, could handle themselves in most situations. What alarmed Archie was that his discomfort stemmed from them being  _ together.  _ It certainly was not Archie’s first encounter with jealousy regarding Betty, but it was certainly the most potent.

Previously with Reggie, Trev, the Doiley servant (and probably four or five other visiting nobleman who took a keen and declarative interest in Betty) he had been resolute that the love he felt for Betty was returned, and felt no remorse about the lengths he took to remove them from Betty’s life. Even with Chuck when Betty’s feelings on the situation were slightly clouded to him, he believed with every ounce of his might that she and him were meant to be.

But now, with Betty’s feelings for him at a reversal he was at a loss of how to act in the situation. He no longer felt as if he had any right to have an opinion about Betty’s love life which made him uncomfortable and frustrated. Further frustrating those feelings was the jealousy object in question, his best friend. 

If there was something going on between them, Archie genuinely would have no idea how to act around them. 

Instead of dwelling on that possibility which was further ruining Archie’s appetite, he tried to rationalize the unlikelihood of there being anything romantic going on between Betty and Jughead. He was pleased that once he thought seriously on the subject, (no small feat for Archibald) he discovered ample evidence disproving of such an attraction.

When Betty and Jughead had first met, Jughead said something uncharacteristically idiotic, and clearly insulted Betty. The previous morning at Veronica’s debut, Betty ran swiftly away from Jughead. On top of that, they had only really known each other for three days.

These thoughts sated Archie enough to enjoy most of his meal and even engage in civil conversation with his father and Veronica. But as Archie finished his meal and his father, possessed by the need to distract them from the missing members of their party, suggested a game of cards. This seemed to please Veronica as she excused herself to freshen up before returning.

As she left, Archie became consumed with each event between Betty and Jughead that he previously used for comfort, now inspiring doubt and uneasy questions.

When Betty met Jughead she had a look in her eyes, the same look she reserved for Chuck when they were together. Perhaps that caused the reaction to Jughead’s clumsy, but to Archie’s ear not unkind words. When Betty fled from Jughead in the hall, he had been staring at her like he had never stared at any girl. Or boy. Or any human being. Also while they have never been close, they  _ have _ known each other for their whole lives.

When Veronica returned Archie’s mood had deflated, but he too loved playing cards, and the competition of it was soothing, so he committed himself to playing the game and participating in at least the minimal amount of idle chit chat.

In a rather interesting turn of events, Veronica Lodge was excellent at gin. They played 4 games with the three of them, with Veronica and Archie splitting the wins. King Andrews, not putting up much of a fight decided to call it a night, as the last bell of the evening chimed 10 low clangs, muffled by the rain.

After Fred left, Veronica and Archie sat awkwardly for a few moments until Archie began to shuffle, then deal breaking the tension. Veronica eased but kept the curious look on her face.

“Are you going to tell me the story?”

Archie started dealing the cards between the two of them, “What story?”

“Of whatever happened, between you and Lady Elizabeth?” Veronica was looking at her cards, asking the question conversationally, as if she were simply filling time.

“Nothing, nothing has happened between Lady Elizabeth and myself.” Technically this was true, but Archie could not help the beginnings of guilt in his gut.

“Ah, you must know her well though, to be so concerned?” Again Veronica’s face was unreadable. No wonder she excelled at card games.

“I’m concerned about the Prince as well,” Archie added as a way of defending himself. Veronica said nothing but simply raised one eyebrow, waiting for him to extrapolate.

“She is my oldest friend, has been since we were kids,” whether it was the stress of the evening or Veronica’s surprisingly soothing company the words easily spilled from his lips. “She and I used to play all around this castle, playing hide and seek, exploring the secret passageways, Elizabeth making stories up as to how and why the passageways were constructed. She was patient with me through my studies, often tutoring when I fell behind. Lady Elizabeth is kind, loyal, and good, of course I am concerned about her safety.” He finished his speech just as Veronica heavily won the game.

“She sounds like an exceptional person, I look forward to meeting her properly,” she gently replied, gathering the cards and shuffling for the next game. 

Veronica was being as patient and kind as Archie had just professed Betty to be, and the harsh truth of his unfairness to her distracted him enough for the next two games to be defeated handily. Veronica, sensing a lack of competition asked for a rematch the next evening, indicating her desire to retire for the night.

Her manners, her grace, and her directness were all at odds with the woman he expected her to be. He was expecting a petulant, spoiled brat of woman and while she was certainly forthright and slightly judgemental towards River Kingdom customs, she was critical not rude.

As he bid her goodnight and made his way towards his bedchambers, the decision he had been weighing since beginning their cardplay gained clarity. His decision was predicated on two irrefutable facts. First, he was still desperately in love with Betty. Second, was that Veronica was an honest person worthy of honesty in return. Due to these truths, the only proper decision would be to speak to Veronica about his pursuit and desire to make Betty his Lady Convoy. 

The stop gap to this plan was the necessity of telling Veronica of feelings and hopes that may not lead to any substantial impact. Betty had made her feelings on the situation well known, and Archie was uncertain how or if he would renew his intentions to Betty. If she were not to be his convoy, would informing Veronica cause undue harm?

With these thoughts weighing heavy on his mind, he entered slumber, and his subconscious fueled his nightmares with uncertainty.

He dreamt of Betty and Jughead lost in the rain, soaked to the bone, finding refuge in an abandoned cave. He imagined Betty reaching to Jughead for warmth and comfort, shedding clothes and distance to indulge in their isolation. Betty whispering the words, “Take me away from this place.” Archie woke with the pain fresh in his heart, sweating from the affect on his nerves. The morning was just waiting for the sun’s arrival when Archie rushed to the stables to learn of his friends’ return, only to be met with disappointment. 

His unease from the dream combined with the duo’s continued absence brought him to the sitting room he currently occupied, waiting for Veronica, for whom he had sent a servant to summon. The morning bells had just begun ringing, so it was likely that Veronica would need time to become publicly presentable. Indeed half of an hour had passed before she appeared in the doorway, looking less coifed than normal.

“Good morning Archie, is everything alright? I am not used to being summoned so early in the morning,” there were shades of both sarcasm and truth to her statement, but she did seem genuinely curious of what was so urgent that Archie was compelled to speak to her so early.

“You asked last evening, what had happened between Lady Elizabeth and myself,” Archie almost stopped himself as Veronica visibly stiffened, but continued avoiding eye contact. “It’s true that we have not previously had a romantic relationship, however I am in love with her and have been since we were children. I want her to be the Lady Convoy to the King.”

Archie was done speaking, but Veronica put her hand up, an indication for him to cease or that she needed a moment, or both.

After several moments, Veronica raised her head to look at Archie, causing him to take several steps back. Her usual mischievous or unreadable expressions were absent, replaced instead by cold fury.

“Prince Archibald, I will begin by acknowledging that I appreciate your candor, and as we proceed through our marriage, I will expect nothing less.” Squaring her shoulders she took several steps forward, nearing Archie as he was unable to melt himself into the wall behind him. “I will do you the courtesy of being equally as blunt. I will not accept you having a Lady Convoy, and as your future wife I would have to consent to the title.” She was correct, he could still take a mistress, but the social acceptability of the woman would be entirely demolished.

“I will not have our future children be in competition or at odds with your not-quite bastard children,” Archie wanted to argue with her terminology, but he was terrified into silence. 

“Further, it seems you have made the decision to love only one person without all the information needed. You and I Archibald are going to meet every other day from now until the wedding. We can meet here in this room at noon, no more atrociously early mornings. In these meetings I want you to be ready to share three things about yourself, and I will do the same.”

Archie felt as if he should say something, but was unable to the formulate a suitable response. Veronica was so forcefully direct, and save for Cheryl and Betty, no woman had ever spoken to him as an equal. Veronica sensed his inability to form a sentence and softened her features. Only slightly.

“Archie, there is a chance you will not fall in love with me. And vice versa. But I like you, I like your father, and I can tell the kingdom is lucky to have rulers who care greatly for its well being. That’s enough for you to earn my respect, I am asking you for the chance to earn yours.”

With that Veronica turned to leave the room, silently disallowing Archie to contradict her, and knowing full well he could not deny meeting her in this same place two days hence. But he found he had no desire to refuse their meeting.

“You already have it,” Archie thought he said it quietly but Veronica turned, aching her eyebrow in confusion.

“My respect, you already have it.”

Veronica’s unreadable expression returned home to her features and she gave no other response than her exit from the room.

***

This was an aggravating turn of events.

Veronica was just becoming rather fond of her fiance and then he felt the need to ruin that progress by professing his love for another woman and his desire to make her his permanent bedmate.

Over her cold, dead body would Veronica Lodge be a second choice.

Her rage was clouding some of her more logical tendencies she realized, as she sat back in her own chambers, forcing her breathing to even and her rage to simmer. There had to be more to this story, and as Veronica had not yet had a conversation with Lady Elizabeth, she was unable to ascertain the lady’s feelings on the subject. What Veronica lacked was information, and as Lady Elizabeth had still not returned from her adventure with the Serpent Prince (which she also found suspicious), she needed to find a new source. 

The servants of the castle were constantly moving in and out of her rooms, she had faith she could throw a pear from the fruit bowl and hit one, possibly three, with little to no foresight or aim. Such extreme measures were fortunately not required. Opening the door to the hallway she was pleased to see a mousy girl washing the windows of the hall. 

The girl, seeing the future lady of the castle staring at her intensely, dropped her rag into the bucket and curtseyed in her direction. Veronica, seeing as she had captured her attention walked closer to her, trying to reign in her feelings as not to appear overbearing.

She was not entirely successful.

“Good morning, tell me are you a native of this castle township?”

The girl looked rather taken aback, but her voice was steady when she replied. “Yes miss, I was born in the township and became a maid rather young.”

“Wonderful, now please tell me, if I were in need of gossip and untold secrets, to whom should I speak?” Veronica had no time for subtlety. 

The girl stared for a few moments and simply replied with, “I am sorry, I am not sure I understand you.”

Veronica took a deep breath, and tried again, “I am new to the castle, and it seems that I have a wealth of history and secrets on which I need to educate myself. I must speak with someone who knows all of the castle’s, and preferably surrounding estate’s business. Can you answer this question?”

The directness caused the girl to shrink, but this time Veronica’s forcefulness did in fact bear fruit, “You will need to speak to Kevin Keller.”

“The Constable?” Veronica looked at her with exasperation. But to her credit the girl just smirked before she corrected her.

“His son. Kevin. He will be at the Constable’s lodgings near the town square, I am happy to escort you there if you would like.”

“Yes please, in fact I would appreciate if we were to leave immediately.” Veronica kept her expression steady so that her seriousness was understood.

This seemed to fluster the girl as she gestured to both her bucket and the window with eyes wide, communicating her fear of leaving a job unfinished. Veronica sympathized, and glanced around for another woman in a simple brown dress. The castle never ceased to supply in that arena, as a taller woman rounded the corner.

Veronica, using all the future power that would soon be bestowed to her, grabbed the startled woman by the wrist and delegated the window task to the tall maid and took the younger girl with her, following slightly behind her steps as she lead her out of the castle into the township.

It was a rather short walk as they exited the castle using an entrance unknown to Veronica. It entered into the castle township which sprawled out behind the castle. Still unrecognizable by face, very few people gave her more than a cursory glance. A select few who must have been present during the presentation of her visage whispered as she and the girl passed, but more people recognized the young maid she was following. Several shopkeepers shouted greetings at the girl, apparently named “Midge.”

They approached a larger home, two stories as opposed to the traditional one, and Midge was gracious enough to knock on the door to initiate the interaction. A fresh faced boy opened the door and immediately noticed Veronica, his eyes widening in delight.

“Miss Veronica Lodge, at my own front step, pray tell, to what do I owe this magnificent honor? Oh, and good morning Midge.” 

Veronica did not need to be told that this was the Kevin Keller she was looking for. She thanked and dismissed a thankful looking Midge, who scurried off to the castle and back to work. Kevin ushered her into the privacy of the home, and after Kevin inquired if there was any refreshment or comfort he could supply her, Veronica took a deep breath and arranged her face to look as disinterested  as possible.

“I have heard you keep the castle’s secrets.”

The corner of Kevin’s mouth twitched upwards, “I have a sympathetic ear.”

Convinced that Kevin’s answers may be salacious, but rooted in truth she continued. “I am coming into this place full of lives already lived, and I was hoping that someone could provide some context so that I do not enter this marriage blindly.”

Veronica was choosing her words carefully, she did not wish to speak ill of her betrothed to one of his current subjects, but she wanted to be direct. Kevin appeared to be someone who liked to bat around his prey before feasting. Luckily Kevin opened with exactly what she wished to hear, perking up excitedly at the chance to share this story.

“Oh you want to know the surrounding circumstances of the situation between him and Betty, correct?” Unfortunately Kevin was waiting for a response, rather than launching directly into his story, forcing Veronica to be complicit in investigating Archie and this girl she had yet to meet. She arched a suspicious eyebrow at his use of Lady Elizabeth’s informal name, but gave a sharp nod for him to resume.

“Archibald and Betty have been friends since they were children. As have we all really, the royalty is very particular about the children they are allowed to fraternize with. Regardless, when Archie was seven, we headed to a dense part of the woods and told scary stories until the wee hours of the night, and even though he was one of the eldest of our group, he was one of the more frightened. Betty and her mother stayed in the castle that night, and knowing his fear of the dark, she flashed a lantern from her quarters to Archie’s who responded back until he fell asleep. That’s when he said he first fell in love with her.” Kevin paused in the wistful part of the story, but his manner changed as he shifted to the end of his seat. When he began speaking again, his voice had adopted a much more conspiratorial tone.

“It may have started innocently and charmingly, but as they grew older and Betty grew more beautiful, Archie became possessive of her time and attentions, particularly when it came to romantic suitors. There have been almost a dozen that have entered serious pursuit of Betty, and all of them were chased off by the prince. His methods starting innocently enough, with threats and posturing, but as they aged so did his tactics. Several of her potential beaus have seen their lives altered due to their attraction to Betty. On her own part, Betty had been pulling away from Archie because of this, but did not truly have a reversal of opinion until he banished her fiance.”

“Her fiance?” At this point Veronica needed to interrupt, Archie had made it seem as if he and Lady Elizabeth were star crossed lovers, separated solely by duty to the kingdom. This story, if true painted a very different picture of their relationship, and one that did not support Archie’s declaration that morning.

“Why then, pray tell, would the daughter of a duke who has been betrayed by the prince consent to be his Convoy?” Veronica was becoming annoyed at the clash of information. Archie’s and Kevin’s stories were completely contradictory and all she desired was a straight answer. Ideally she would get it from Lady Elizabeth herself when she returned, but patience had never been one of Veronica’s virtues.

Kevin’s mouth fell wide at her question and he immediately started shaking his head, “No, never, Betty would never agree to that, even  _ if  _ she did love him, which I can assure you, she does not.” Kevin took Veronica’s hands which surprised her, and she was going to yank them out of his grasp until she glimpsed the genuine plea in his eyes. “Listen, Veronica, Betty is one of my greatest friends in this world, she is good in every sense of the word. She would never do this, I urge you to speak to her directly. In fact I am surprised you did not seek her first. You do not strike me as a woman who relies on second hand knowledge.”

Veronica paused, unsure of how to proceed. While the rumours of Elizabeth and the Serpent Prince’s overnight jaunt would soon be the highlight of all castle whispers, she did not wish to catalyze it further. Kevin and Betty did seem to be friends, but Kevin was also clearly a gossip. She did not want to arm him with any further ammunition.

“She is absent this morning, I will find her directly upon my return. Thank you for your time, I am sure to see you at the Feast of Promise.” Veronica turned and fled the room without waiting for an answer. She vaguely heard Kevin calling for her as she made her way back to the castle entrance, but she had a plan forming in her mind that she did not wish to be distracted from. By the time she reached her chamber doors, Veronica was slightly winded, but fully determined. The maid, Midge had returned to her window washing duties, and was not far down the hall when she spotted Veronica. Her eyes went wide and she immediately responded when Veronica beckoned with her finger.

“I need you to do something for me Midge...Miss…?”

“Klump.”

“I’m going to keep calling you Midge. Tell me midday supper is sent to wherever I wish it correct?” Midge nodded. And Veronica let her breath catch up as she calmly gave Midge all the instructions she would need for this afternoon.

Midge’s eyes remained wide, but her sole response was a nod and a turn to carry out the requests immediately, to Veronica’s great relief. A relief she wished she could extend to her romantic circumstances.

Men had always chased Veronica, and she had always played hard to get, enjoying the games more than any prospect of love. But she had always been the first choice, she would have men relent and marry another, only to cast wishful glances which Veronica returned, playing with their emotions. To have her soon-to-be-husband chase, and chase so desperately, another woman left Veronica reeling.

Staring at the newly decorated walls of her chambers, Veronica talked herself down from the spiral she was falling into. That Veronica who simpered and lured men down hallways only to reject their advances was a petulant, spoiled child; drunk in the benefits of wealth and irresponsibility. Veronica was not that girl anymore, but rather a woman who understood that emotions were not to be toyed with.

Heading to her closet, Veronica opened her armoire and pulled out some of her more classic dresses, just as several maids entered with other gowns, which sooned joined the others on the large bed. Four other maids (Veronica was starting to suspect the castle had a factory that produced them) brought in the bathing tub and buckets of water to boil, and Veronica could not help but smile and Midge’s efficiency.

Not wishing to hinder the progress of the women, Veronica left her chambers and moved down the hall to a window that overlooked the entrance of the castle, awaiting the arrival of the woman who, hopefully, would give Veronica the answers she required.

***

“We cannot possibly leave before breakfast, Betty.” It was not the first time that Jughead had said her name this morning, but he was finding he enjoyed every opportunity possible to employ it. It also happened to punctuate a very serious statement that, frustratingly, Betty wished to ignore.

“Jughead,” the use of the nickname was almost as intoxicating as being able to say Betty. The informality of it and the ease in which she used it, wrapped around Jughead easing his nerves. “We were out all evening, I am sure the castle is worried about us, and I would like to get back before they decide to send out a search party.”

By “the castle” Jughead was certain that she was referring to Arch, to which Jughead would deal with later. Regardless it had only just chimed 6 bells, he assumed Archie would not be up for hours. 

“Betty please, I will eat quickly,” Jughead whined causing Betty to release the loudest laugh he had ever heard from her, causing his cheeks to redden, from embarrassment or pleasure he could not say.

“Of that Prince Jones, I have no doubt,” staring at his pleading eyes she finally relented. As she ate some pieces of fruit and a small wedge of ham, Jughead proceeded to eat half his body weight.

Betty was staring at him but said nothing, just raised her eyebrows as she excused herself from the dining hall for the moment. When she returned she had put on her riding cloak and informed him that their horses had been prepared for departure.

“Of course, let me settle the payment and we will be on our way,” he moved towards the entry room but Betty stopped him. He stared with fascination as her face deepened so greatly in color she looked as if she had been in the sun too long.

“I took care of the rooms,” Jughead sighed standing up straight to start an argument when Betty stopped him with a torrent of words. “No you will not argue with on this for several reasons. First the proprietor likes me significantly better than you, and while he most likely would have overcharged you, especially if he deduced you were the Serpent Prince, he offered me the price of two beds for one. Second, I feel very poorly for the intrusive questions I asked you in anger the other day, and I hope you take this an indication of the seriousness of my apology.”

Betty could not meet his gaze through her entire ramble, and Jughead found himself staring in awe of the woman before him. In the last three days he had said more hurtful things to her than should be allowed in a lifetime, and yet she took it with grace and humility. But she was not shy, she was fierce in her convictions and her intelligence but she did not let it indirectly harm others, something Jughead seemed to do with his very breath. She was an enigma, this Betty Cooper, and he could spend lifetimes studying her contradictions.

“Betty, if rooms and lodging are required for amending rude and regretful comments, then I believe I should give you my entire castle.” Betty’s eyes flickered to Jughead’s and rather than the soft smile he had hoped to cause, there was an apprehension that confused Jughead. It lasted for only a few moments before the smile he so desperately wished to see spread across Betty’s face.

“Next time we are trapped in an inn, I promise you may finance the adventure,” Betty then turned to exit the inn with Jughead following at her heels, now oddly desperately thirsty.

Since Betty had insisted on their expedient departure, he had decided to let her set the pace on their journey back. He was pleased that she opted for a more leisurely pace, at this rate bringing them to the castle gates just after nine bells. As they steadied their gait, Jughead was worried that the easy conversation they fell into the previous evening would be lost in the day. Sure enough, he found himself unsure of starting conversation with Betty, who also glanced over, poised to begin a conversation only to abandon the endeavour.

“It seems Betty that without stories to tell, I am not very good company,” Jughead finally stated after repeating the sentence several dozen times in his head to ensure that it would not be awkward or insulting.

“Well then Jug, you should tell me a story, a true one this time,” Jughead only let himself be startled by the nickname for a moment before happily launching into a story from his childhood about the time that JB had sent him on a wild goose chase in search for her doll. In reality JB just wished to steal a few toys from Jughead’s room, so she sent him on a mystery quest, a task Jughead could not resist. 

Betty laughed at the diabolical intelligence of his sister, and embarked on her own story of tricking Polly into doing some of the more odious household chores.

“You live in a duchy, I would have assumed that you would have those in your service complete the tasks,” as soon as he said it, he opened his mouth to apologize, but Betty surprised him by laughing it off and teased, “Oh my, the Serpent Prince, cannot fathom the nobility performing mundane tasks.” They were riding close enough for Jughead to playfully nudge her shoulder which only made her laughter increase in volume.

“No my mother was insistent that Polly and I understand the labor and work of our staff so that we could better appreciate it. Polly and I always found that at odds with her primary goal of marrying us off to high ranking men.” Betty muttered the last half of her statement, but Jughead decided it was best not to question it, instead mentioning that his father also had him and JB help with the chores as they aged.

“My father still remembers as a child, when the kingdom was just beginning to come into wealth and respectability. He never wanted us to become too used to privilege, in case the worst should happen.” Betty eyed him curiously but did not push, the reputation of the Serpent Kingdom well known. Since the establishment of the Allied Kingdoms, the Serpent Kingdom, formally known as the South Kingdom, had been the poorest but most well connected of the kingdoms. Its place amongst the other two Allied only cemented due to its possession of all the major ports used by the rest of the world’s kingdoms and its uncanny ability to acquire materials and goods at a cheap rate, thus slowly earning them their serpentine nickname. It was not until Jughead’s grandfather, the first Forsythe Pendleton and fifth king of the Serpent Kingdom was on the throne, that the Serpent Kingdom took a turn towards respectability and profitability. As the power and education of the Allied Kingdoms grew, their need for armed forces increased with it, prompted on threats from outside lands. Building on their less than respectable reputation, King Forsythe I established a fearsome army, one that countries would pay dearly to use on occasion. The gold these missions procured  allowed them to build better schools and transportation channels, compounding their wealth and their status. And yet, three generations later they were still known as the Serpent Kingdom, and still treated as a lower class than the two more established kingdoms.

This infuriated Jughead.

Betty sensed the agitation and offered, “It’s amazing how the Serpent Kingdom has changed over the past year. All the best extended education schools are all considered to be built there, I actually once tried to convince my parents to let me attend after mandatory schooling. My...friend also thought of going to school there to train to be a surgeon.” Jughead at first thought that Betty was placating him. Many nobles tried to appear polite by trying to convince that they bought a good, or employed a tradesmen from the Serpent Kingdom, meaning they could not possibly be accused of prejudice, a tactic Jughead always found to be incredibly condescending. But as Betty spoke, she seemed genuinely impressed by the Serpent Kingdom’s progress and Jughead felt the pride and curiosity well up inside him.

“Why did your parents not let you go? What would you have studied?”

“Basic mechanics,” she pulled out a timepiece, shocking Jughead, as they were extremely rare outside of formal bell towers. “I’ve always been fascinated with building machines, small chain reactions to make manual labor less manual. I actually mended this timepiece myself, using some books on the subject. I read whatever I can, even built a few contraptions that are used on the duchy.”

Betty seemed embarrassed to be sharing all this, but Jughead was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to continue, “My parents of course would not let me. Surgeons, inventors, and builders are trades used by the working class to grow in wealth and stature. My pursuit would rob another person of their chance to rise in the world. At least that is what my mother thinks, my father just believes those trades are below the Cooper name. Which I suppose is true, but I do not think it is too much to want to be more than a wife of a nobleman.” She grew more defiant as she talked about her inevitable fate, the fierceness of her never ceasing to amaze him.

“You are incredible Betty Cooper.”

Betty looked at him in shock, but he did not feel any embarrassment or shame, and he found himself pleased with the blush he caused to redden her cheeks. 

They could see the castle in the distance now, and Jughead looked over the left to observe the Cooper estate, but not the Cooper manor, hidden as it was by the grove. “I would really enjoy seeing your inventions sometime, if you wouldn’t mind,” Jughead motioned to the estate.

“I would really like to show them to you,” was Betty’s quiet reply as they fell into a companionable silence.

Rounding a corner, Jughead noticed a large building that was in shocking disrepair for being so close to the castle and bustling township. Seeing his curiosity Betty nodded toward the castle, “That used to be the school used by the royals and the local nobility including myself and Prince Archibald. But like many of the other schools in the River Kingdom, they cannot afford to keep it open. Since Archie is past mandatory schooling, it was an easy choice to close. Forcing the nobility to learn along with the working class is for the good of the kingdom anyway.”

Jughead forced his features to remain passive. He had known of the two other Allied kingdom’s desire to raise taxes, but was unaware that the situation had become so dire. The necessity of the the arranged marriage to the Lodge girl was now gaining clarity.

Thinking of the red-headed prince, Jughead launched a test into what he was starting to believe was a new friendship. He also desperately hoped that his question would not ruin it, but he was never quite able to deny or tame his investigative and curious nature.

“Betty, I do not want to pry, and do not feel pressured to tell me...” this introduction swiftly gained Betty’s rapt attention, “...but what happened between you and Archie? We have kept in touch all these years, and they way he told it, you two were on the verge of betrothal.”

Betty was silent for a bit, but she did not look angry which Jughead found encouraging.

“I was engaged.”

The declaration surprised Jughead causing an uncomfortable twist in his gut.

“His name was Lord Charles Clayton, and he was destined to become the earl of an estate north of the castle. When we were younger he was kind and rather silly, but as he aged he grew more handsome and overly confident with women, and he gained a rather infamous reputation. It was with this reputation that he started his courtship of me when I was seventeen.” Betty let out a dark chuckle and leveled a meaningful look towards Jughead.

“As you can imagine, I was not receptive to his advances. I actually found his courtship to be quite clumsy, I was surprised that so many women had previously fallen prey. One night after a large feast at the castle, I overheard him and his father arguing. Chuck wanted desperately to attend extended education.”

“He was the friend who wished to become a surgeon,” Jughead softly interjected, remembering their earlier conversation. Betty bit her lip and nodded, focusing on the mane of her horse as she continued her story.

“I sympathized with him of course, and offered the use of our extensive library so he could at the very least read through the most recent and most necessary of medical texts. On the days he came over, I would sit and the library and read through my own makeshift extended education. That is how our friendship started, by talking about the nobility we were born into and the lives we wish we could have had in other trades. After several months our friendship grew into a courtship, which we continued in secret. Almost a year after that first day in the library, he asked me to be his wife in that very same spot. Archie found out and made some accusations which sullied his reputation, and he was forced to flee the kingdom. I still have not been able to locate him,” Betty rushed through the end of her story, her voice thick with emotion.

“I am so sorry, Betty,” Jughead lamely offered. He could not think of anything better to say to this, but he watched her carefully, hoping that his face offered more empathy than his words could. She looked to him and they held a gaze for several moments.

“Apologies for the candor, but you are surprisingly easy share secrets with, Jughead,” Betty looked at him with an openness that Jughead had never seen outside of some of his more tender conversations with JB.

“It probably helps when I stay silent,” Jughead had meant it semi-seriously but he was still greatly pleased with the laugh that allowed Betty to visually shed some of the sadness that the retelling of her story had caused.

Jughead’s mind worked quickly through the information that Betty chose to share with him. There was still clearly more to the story. Why the secrecy of their almost year-long relationship? What precisely was the nature of Archie’s accusation? He resolved to find that answer from the prince himself, rather than distress Betty any further.

For the rest of the journey Jughead and Betty traded suspicions as to how the castle had handled their disappearance. Both readily agreed that Toni would have taken care of any extreme measures or accusations, but that did not stop them from coming up with ludicrous theories. Jughead stories tended towards the more criminal, while Betty, to his terror and delight thought of horrific scenarios.

“Why would King Andrews believe that our ghosts would haunt the castle, neither of us are native to it, and according to you, we were murdered my knaves on our way back so why on choose River Castle as our forever haunting grounds?” Jughead could think of much better places to haunt, here in his ghostly from he was certain he would see more of Archie than he would ever care to see.

“Better than your rather elaborate kidnapping plot, which seems, I am sorry to say rather underbaked.” Betty shook her head and wondered aloud, “You are fascinated by mysteries, and I am the queen of horror, what a pair we make.” As soon as it was out of her mouth her eyes widened at the assumption, but Jughead’s hearty laughter led into amiable teasing as their horses hooves clattered on the bridge leading to the castle, though Jughead now had a rather appeasing vision of Betty in silver queen’s crown. 

Jughead and Betty led their horses to the gate, and were unsurprised to find two of his knights and a stable boy waiting for them. He dismissed the serpents back to their posts, and the stable boy quickly relieved them of their tired steeds. Jughead and Betty entered the castle and informed one of the footmen to inform those concerned that they had returned. He needed no further instructions as he fled the hall. 

Jughead and Betty were just discussing when they planned to meet in the previously agreed upon study, when a young maid that Jughead did not recognize appeared and immediately started speaking to Betty.

“Lady Elizabeth, Miss Lodge has asked that you join her for the afternoon until dinner this evening. I was directed to fetch you upon your immediate arrival, and escort you to her chambers,” Midge moved to take Betty’s arm and Jughead felt the need to grab Betty’s opposite in an attempt to keep her in place. Though he was not eager to admit it, particularly to himself, he was quite looking forward to spending the day with Lady Elizabeth.

“Midge,” Betty began as Jughead catalogued the usurpers name for future use, “What is the rush, I am still in my dress from yesterday, can this not wait until tomorrow?”

Midge shook her head so vigorously Jughead was concerned she was experiencing conniption. “No she had some of your gowns taken from your quarters and she has drawn up a bath for you, there are attendants waiting, we must go now,” dropping her voice so Jughead could barely hear she added, “She is rather scary when she is determined, Lady Elizabeth.

Betty looked towards Jughead with a pleading but curious glance, and he could feel her silently imploring him for forgiveness. He had to admit, he was just as curious about Miss Lodge’s motivations as Betty.

“You will tell me everything tomorrow?” Was all he asked, earning that smile from Elizabeth Cooper that was richer than gold.

“Every detail.” Betty suddenly turned to Midge and with an even tone inquired, “Midge, can you give the Prince and I a few moments please?” Midge glanced back in forth between the two of them, confirming this request would certainly be subject to castle gossip soon, but she still looked like she did not want to submit to the request. How fearsome could the tiny Miss Lodge be?

“Midge, please go to the alcove there,” Betty gestured to a space several meters away where Midge could surely see, but not hear them, “And count to two hundred.”

Midge narrowed her eyes but started moving towards the alcove. Betty stopped her halfway there and asked her to sample her counting out loud.

“Onetwothree…”

“Midge!”

A heavy sigh followed but she did look at Betty apologetically, “One...two...three…”

“Better, thank you Midge.” Betty turned back to Jughead, and behind her he could feel Midge’s stare on them, her lips moving silently, but as promised slowly.

“Jug, I am going to send Midge to fetch a lockbox from room, will you remember the combination if I give it to you?”

Unable to find his voice, Jughead nodded.

“Good, it is 7-7-5-2, in it you will find everything I have regarding the murder, look over all of it so we start with the same information when we finally can look through this ledger.” With that she pulled the worn book from her bag and handed it over to him with no hesitation and no regret. “Keep it safe for us?”

We. Us. The ledger. The lockbox. The amount of trust that this woman, who he had amassed a lifetime’s worth of bad impressions upon, had bestowed upon him nearly broke his resolve.

“I will guard it with my life,” he had meant to say it lightly, but it sounded to his ears as serious as he actually meant it. 

“Lady Elizabeth!” Midge screeched from her corner, but to her credit did not advance in their direction.

Betty turned towards him, eyes wide and in a rush, on impulse she grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze he could barely register over the pulse that raced from his hand through his arm and up to his heart, increasing its beating to an almost audible thrum. Betty opened her mouth to speak, but she too paused for a few moments. Finally recovering she whispered, “See you at dinner?”

“I certainly hope so.” Betty smiled and relinquished his hand, but that did nothing to slow the pounding in his veins. Betty turned to follow Midge down the corridor when Jughead was hit with a question to which he immediately needed the answer.

“Betty!” She was far enough away that he almost had to shout, she took several steps forward so he could lower his volume.

“The lockbox, did you make it yourself?”

The only response he received was a small smirk as she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Staring after her with the ledger in his hands and a mirrored smirk on his face, Jughead could not help but think it would take a lifetime to solve the mystery that was Betty Cooper.

He was also undeniably certain that it would be time well spent.

***

Midge essentially had them jog to Veronica’s chambers, further precipitating the need to bathe. The rush seemed rather unneeded, as they entered the chambers finding the brunette herself being nowhere in sight. Maids had started to tug at Betty’s clothes to get her into the tub, giving Betty little time to give Midge her new instruction. Midge eyed her mischievously, but pursued her new mission without further comment.

Betty insisted that she bathe alone, a privacy she had been allowed since age five, but was now called into question under Veronica’s rule. She was swarmed upon exit from the tub, quickly dressed and groomed, and led from the anteroom to the main sitting area where Veronica was waiting with a modest lunch laid out for them, as it was still before the first bell change.

Taking in the chamber really for the first time, Betty started to notice all the changes that Veronica had made to the room. Betty could not remember staying in these particular rooms, but she was aware that all guest quarters were decorated the same. Several vases, perhaps a tapestry, but they were meant more for function rather than show. Veronica it seems, preferred show. There were beautifully woven tapestries on the walls, several vases filled with roses from the garden, and placed intermittently on spare surfaces were jeweled keepsake boxes, carved figurines, and other oddly shaped objects Betty could only assume were meant to be understood as art pieces.

The most ornate art piece in the room was Veronica herself. Unlike her look crafted for her debut, Veronica had carefully arranged her hair to fall into a lace net punctuated by what she assumed were fake pearls, the bright spheres contrasting beautifully with her dark hair. The gown she was wearing was a deep purple with slender black piping accentuating her figure. It did not show skin, but she still found the garment to be less modest than was custom in the Allied Kingdoms. Betty noted with amusement that the choice of gown she was forced into reflected Veronica’s own taste. It was a gown she rarely wore and was commissioned by her mother. The base of the dress was cream, with a deep rose colored over layer that laced in the front. It was beautiful and truly meant for daily wear, but Betty always felt over dressed when she wore it. 

Except of course in the presence of Miss Veronica Lodge.

Betty took the only seat that was offered to her at the square table where Veronica had their lunch waiting.  She sat on a corresponding side of Veronica, rather than across from her, so that Betty felt even more under the woman’s gaze. Betty gratefully took a sip of the wine that was waiting for her.

“Lady Elizabeth Cooper, I am very grateful to meet you formally,” Veronica held out her hand and declared, “I am Veronica Lodge.”

In the Allied Kingdoms it was not a common to shake hands in greeting, particularly among women, and while Betty recognized that was what Veronica intended to do, she was uncertain of how to carry out the custom. Veronica started to look unsure, her hand wavering, when Betty let her gut make the decision to be straightforward with Veronica.

“At risk of looking like a fool, Miss Lodge, I should inform you that I have never shaken hands before, and am currently debating if shaking your hand improperly or not shaking your hand at all is the greater affront to politeness.”

Veronica let out a short loud laugh and immediately with her non-shaking hand, grabbed Betty’s own hand and placed in her waiting grip. Her hand gently closed around Betty’s and she jostled the join up and down for a few moments before releasing.

“I think I like that better than curtseying,” Betty truthfully muttered earning a flash of a smile from Veronica. Her mood however had started to change, she became less open and more controlled, placing her hands on her lap and turning her body slightly to face Betty.

“Lady Elizabeth, I wish to speak with you on your shared history with my future husband.”

Betty’s entire stomach fell into turmoil, and though she did not have a mirror at her disposal, she was certain her entire visage resembled a ghost. While Betty had tried to be ignorant of all gossip in regards to her and Archie, since it never held any weight, she could only imagine what salacious rumours were given to Veronica. Not to mention what Archie himself would be foolish enough to add to the unfortunate situation.

Veronica started to speak but Betty interrupted her, earning a rather icy glare from her lunch companion. “Apologies Miss Lodge, but I believe my statements would hold more weight if I told you everything from my perspective first. So you can be sure that I am not manufacturing a defence based on whatever rumours or events you have to share with me.”

Veronica’s expression softened only slightly, but she still looked prepared for unfortunate tidings. She simply nodded for Betty to continue.

Having a similar conversation with Jughead this morning was beneficial as told a pared down version of the story this morning, not revealing anything about relationship with Chuck just acknowledging its existence and Archie’s role in its destruction.

Betty paused, there was a key piece of information she was with holding, but she felt uncomfortable sharing more than necessary. She settled with being reasonably vague. “Archie also approached me about his feelings last week, and I have made it clear that those feelings are not reciprocated.” Even though it hid the uglier parts of the truth, it still made Betty uneasy to declare.

“You mean when he asked you to be his Lady Convoy?” Veronica asked, not out of spite but to clear the air of any misunderstandings. Hearing it spoken out loud though, caused Betty to flush and her heart to beat faster. Her anger was not however, on her own behalf.

“You are to be his wife, you have known him for two days and I assuming one of the first things he has confessed to you about himself is that he desired to take another woman as his Convoy,” Betty could barely see Veronica through her tears of anger. She furiously cleared the tears from her eyes, trying to meet Veronica’s own troubled stare. “I am so sorry Veronica, what a horrible introduction into a new kingdom, to new  _ life _ .”

Once Betty could see clearly again she peered at Veronica, finding a look of shock punctuated by raised eyebrows and her open mouth. Recovering, she closed her mouth and leaned closer to take Betty’s hand. “Betty, “ Veronica began, not needing permission to use the shortened moniker, “I do not blame you for this, and neither should you blame himself. The only person I hold responsible for Archibald’s actions are Archibald.”

Veronica moved her other hand to their joined hold, with Betty adding her other hand as well, building a small tower of comfort. “You my dear Betty, have been nothing but truthful and kind the entire hour of our acquaintance, and for that I thank you, and hope that you will continue to keep me company for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Miss Klump led me to believe that my presence this afternoon was not an invitation I was permitted to decline,” Betty added with a smirk and a chuckle.

Returning her mischievous smile Veronica replied without any hint of sarcasm, “I usually get what I want.”

“I have no doubts, Miss Lodge. So tell me what activities have you planned for us?” Veronica, visually more at ease, began tentatively laying out the plans to finish their lunch and then take a walk down by Sweetwater River. Such a journey would be a public display of solidarity between the two women, and Veronica wished to see more of her new kingdom. Betty, curious to know more about this flame of a woman readily agreed to the agenda.

Less than an hour later they were strolling the path arm and arm alongside Sweetwater River, and Betty found herself fascinated by her companion. Veronica did not mince words and she did shy way from discomfort, facing everything straight ahead, barrelling through it like some of the more stubborn bulls the Coopers kept on their estate. She also was direct in her criticism of Betty, not unkind or rude just clear on her opinion, and open for response. Betty found her attitude to be refreshing and helpful, easy to build a foundation of trust upon. Her family, even her sister, doled out advice carefully and sparingly, and always with the intent of manipulating Betty to their own agenda. Betty recognized that her easy and quick rapport with Veronica was so built because she reminded her so much of Cheryl, and Veronica was helping fill the void of her missing friend.

She also could not wait for the two of them to meet, though the kingdom may not survive.

Veronica for her part, enjoyed the unselfish kindness that Betty bestowed upon her. Never in her life had someone treated her well simply because it was in their nature to do so, and not because they desired something from Veronica. Their equal appreciation of the other’s personality quickly devolved into easy conversation, and by the time they had done an about face to return to the castle, they had adopted nicknames and were enjoying comfortable conversation.

“B, how does Kevin Keller get all of his information, exactly, certainly people must know their secrets cannot be safe with him?” Veronica has just told Betty how she had found out about the latter’s history with Archie.

“Kevin is a good person with a rather exceptional devious streak to his personality. He loves to have and share information, but never has he maliciously used his knowledge for ill, so for the most part we let him have free reign. As for his sources, they are everywhere in the castle, so be wary.” Betty added with a faux tone of doom.

Veronica looked to Betty with a disconcerting sparkle in her dark eyes, “If that is true, by now he should know about your overnight adventure with the Serpent Prince.”

With one simple statement, Betty’s entire body was lit on fire, both in appearance and in feeling. After leaving him in the hall this morning, she had tried to push the entire previous day to the back of her mind to be ruminated upon later. Unfortunately she was finding that everything that Veronica said, everything she saw she wanted to share with Jughead, simply to hear his opinion on the matters. Veronica mentioned wild, Western Kingdom parties known to have naked dancing women as entertainment, a fact she immediately wanted to tease Jughead about, and ask if he enjoyed such parties during his time there. When staring at the river she started to look for the exact shade of his blue eyes in the waves. 

Betty was fully aware that this was utterly ridiculous. She had only really known him for less than a day, these feelings were hormonal and over-exaggerated, heightened by the investigation and intense conversations they had had the previous day and now early this morning. 

What scared Betty was the recognition of what these feelings and thoughts meant, having experienced them only once before in her life. Betty knew what these types of feelings and thoughts grew into, and she felt very uneasy to continue exploring them.

She also knew she would regret it if she did not.

Veronica was still looking expectantly at Betty, and seeing the crimson shades highlight Betty’s cheeks, she knew she had struck a nerve.

“Nothing happened, we were just stuck at an inn...in  _ separate _ rooms...because of the storm. We were...investigating. Nothing happened,” she repeated lamely.

“Oh in the traditional sense I believe you. But something certainly happened.” Veronica smirked but had the grace to change subjects as they neared the castle. Betty was barely listening trying to calm her heart and her nerves to a reasonable level. 

Veronica had changed subjects to the Feast of Promise which, as the bride-to-be, she was expected to organize. Veronica clearly excelled in planning social gatherings, but in a new place with unknown resources, Veronica was quickly becoming frustrated. Betty jumped at the chance to assist and to distract herself from thinking of the dark-haired prince. Upon returning to the castle, they immediately started drafting missives to send to local merchants for their presence the following morning. 

She stayed with Veronica until they went down to dinner, and for the most part, she was distracted from her problematic emotions regarding Jughead.

That composure was shattered to pieces as they entered the dining hall, where the three men were already assembled, waiting for them. Jughead’s smile upon seeing her set her heart on a chase, and Betty could no longer deny the peril she had found herself experiencing. 

He had saved the seat next to him, and as he leaned over to whisper, “I see you survived your afternoon with future queen,” she felt his breathy whisper on her cheek. 

Jughead Jones was infuriating. He had insulted her, comforted her, and teased her, and god help her,  _ flirted _ with her in the span of three days. It should give her whiplash, or at the very least cause her to pause. There was no consistency with him, tomorrow they could wake up, and having received all possible information from Betty, he could ignore her presence until he left. Because he would leave, Betty reminded herself. The best solution for her would be to place these emotions in a box labeled trauma induced, and forget about Jughead Jones.

But as Veronica accidentally insulted Archie and Jughead caught her gaze to give her a wink and a smirk, Betty feared she was already too far gone for salvation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Betty we've all been there...just let it happen girl.
> 
> Recs by Kez:  
> 1\. So as we all know by now, I am playing fast an loose with actual medieval times-y things. But for some reason I had was stuck on using the word "lunch" for like a day. This devolved into me singing "Ladies Who Lunch" very loudly for an hour at about 1 in the morning, which is unpleasant for those who live with me and for my neighbors. But Elaine Stritch (RIP) is great and so is that song.  
> 2\. I've been thinking a lot of the book "Crown Duel" by Sherwood Smith as I write this, and while I have some issues with character development outside the main character, the castle intrigue is A+  
> 3\. I don't think it affected this chapter, but a bulk of this was written while A Few Good Men played in the background. And damn is that movie good. (If someone can find where/if that slipped into my self-conscious while writing this I will award you 10 points)


	6. Wise Men Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version has not been entirely proofread so I apologize for errors. Some bts info on its tardiness are in the notes below. I hope you enjoy!!!!

Betty started to learn the pianoforte when she was five years of age, and still to this day practiced diligently when she could, feeling accomplished in her ability to elicit melodies from little more than wood and ivory. While she was a decent performer, she would never, under pain of death, perform in front of others, for fear of judgement and ridicule. She could not fathom sharing such a personal gift with others, unless it was completely well rehearsed, and studied to perfection.

Unfortunately, the entertainers that Veronica had gathered to audition for the honor of “entertaining” the attendants of the Feast of Promise did not seem to share this philosophy.

The morning had started pleasantly enough. Betty had commissioned a maid to have her wakened by six bells, so she could be in the main hall to greet Veronica and the awaiting merchants an hour later. The maid was not needed, as Betty had lazily been in and out of wonderful sleep since she returned to her chambers late the previous evening. Long, deft fingers caressed her dreams and she could swear she felt them leave marks on her skin as she returned to the reality of wakefulness.

As Betty entered further into the land of the living, she prepared herself for her no doubt rigorous day with Veronica, dressing herself in a deep evergreen gown she hoped would pass Veronica’s impeccable standards. While a maid laced the back for her, she reminded herself of the resolution she had made the previous evening. She could flirt and bat her eyelashes at Jughead Jones all she wanted, but she could let herself go no farther.

She had originally planned on allowing no encouragement of any of the feelings that were developing, but damn her if Jughead wasn’t an incorrigible flirt. All evening there were secret whispers and furtive looks, and each time her stomach dropped, and her heart fluttered.  Every blush, every fought grin seemed to encourage his behavior. Ignoring him would be impossible, she had already resolved to investigate with him and further extended time alone together was unavoidable.

To squelch the future pain and hurt that these bothersome feelings would no doubt cause, Betty decided that she could handle, nay enjoy, these little flirtations. Their combined intelligence would solve the crime, of that she was certain, and he would return to the Serpent Kingdom. She would be left here with pleasant memories and perhaps just slight pining for what could have been. No true harm done.

If only her dreams would cooperate. Her subconscious was fully aware that she wanted more from him, and damn it, Betty’s conscious mind needed to persevere.

Planning the Feast of Promise proved to be the perfect distraction from her heart’s predicament. Every merchant whose presence they had requested the day prior had appeared with their best goods and wares in tow. Betty was concerned that Veronica, who hailed from the lavish and diverse Western markets would find nothing of comparable quality, at least in her mind’s eye. Indeed, Veronica was incredibly picky and after she had dismissed the first three craftsmen vying to provide placements for the meal, Betty’s stomach started to knot with uncertainty. But as Veronica started making decisions she was taken aback by how gracious and complimentary she was to those crafts and wares that passed muster. After examining a perfectly smooth set of pewter plates, decorated with simple ornate edging, she complimented the merchant on the grade of materials and the care in which they were crafted. She was specific and direct with her compliments, allowing the merchant, who had seen his competitors rejected without a word, to know her words were earnest and not false compliments.

She certainly was a woman who knew what she wanted, a trait that Betty had never envied more than she did now.

They (truthfully mostly Veronica, but she seemed very grateful for Betty’s presence and opinion) had decided on flowers, place settings, and decorations before the full hour had entirely passed, and Betty allowed the beginnings of hope that she could sneak away to meet Jughead before they met again for their dinner tastings. She and Jughead had not been able to come up with a plan at dinner the evening prior, and she wanted to devise a plan to meet, most likely the next day.

If Betty were honest with herself, which she was desperately endeavouring not to be, her purest desire was to see him.

But alas, the assembled musicians and entertainers were here to dash her futile hopes, as well as all faith she may have held in the artistic abilities of her kingdom. Thus far her and Veronica had been subjected to a juggler who left a smattering of juice from all the tomatoes he fumbled, providing an unfortunate smell that underscored the warbly choir of off key girls, a trio of musicians whose instruments Betty believed had not been tuned in her lifetime, and a jester whose tricks and riddles were more appropriate for the intellectual level of young children.

There were five more acts to be subjected to, and she made Veronica promise her that once they found a suitable artist, they would dismiss the others, to which Veronica readily agreed. They were expected in the dining hall in an hour for tastings, and at this pace she knew she would not be able to sneak off to see Jughead. She tried not to let her disappointment transfer to the harpist who was setting up her instrument.

The harpist was beautiful, with rich dark skin, and Betty almost laughed when she declared her name was Melody. Betty and Veronica braced themselves for another painful rendition as Melody placed her hands on the strings. As she began to move them, Betty was almost surprised by the music that came from them. She had heard other harpists before, competent players, but Melody seemed to be able to make the strings sing multiple notes at once creating complex and beautiful melodies, much like her name implied.

Veronica and Betty both sighed with relief, and Veronica sent a servant to dismiss the rest of the performers. Veronica praised Melody after her initial tune and asked if she would be kind enough to play her full set for them, to ease away the unpleasantness of the morning. Betty sat back in her chair with her eyes closed letting the music wash over her, letting her mind fall into idle contentment. Her peace was disrupted as she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise in alertness, and a burning cascade down the column of her back. Someone was watching her.

She spun and immediately her stomach flipped, and her breath caught. He was standing in the archway leading to another hall, his eyes directly on her, silently beckoning her to join him. Betty put her hand on Veronica’s who eyed her with confusion as she quietly slipped away towards Jughead.

“If only I had any musical ability to attract such rapt attention,” Jughead’s smirk was on full display as he leaned against the archway. His eyes were searching her for any signs of his effect on her, and Betty was disappointed that his smile widened once he saw the flush on her cheeks.

Incorrigible. Flirt. However, Betty had decided she could enjoy these attentions, and games were meant for two after all.

“There are other, more interesting ways to hold my attention,” Betty let her voice drop in tone so that it was lower than normal, and she had to stifle the laugh that threatened to erupt after witnessing Jughead’s shocked expression. She continued as if nothing were amiss, “Our investigation, for instance. I apologize for not being able to escape from planning obligations, I do not think I will be able to meet until tomorrow morning.”

“The future queen is putting quite the damper on our investigation, you would think that she was the mastermind,” his sarcasm was evident, but his annoyance was real. “Tomorrow morning then? The study? I am an early riser, so I can meet you as early as six bells.”

“As am I, meet there promptly at six? I trust you have gone over everything I gave you?” Betty found herself anxious at his reaction, perhaps he thought she was deranged by keeping such diligent record over such an awful event. As Jughead gazed at her in awe, she found her fears were unfounded.

“You never cease to amaze Betty Cooper, I do have some theories to share when we meet tomorrow. I am anxious to gain your reaction.”

Betty found she was getting increasingly anxious as well for entirely different reasons.

Jughead’s mood shifted slightly from playful and friendly banter into a sincerity that surprised her, especially when he spoke, “Promise me you are mine tomorrow? No more sudden disruptions from Veronica?”

The earnestness, and the way he said “mine” left a tightness in Betty’s chest that was caused her breathing to shorten and her language to falter. Swallowing hard she managed to croak, “I promise.” It came out far more desperate than she had intended. Jughead noticed, but his reaction did not increase her embarrassment, instead caused heat of a very different kind to course through her. His eyes darkened, and he approached her, far closer than what proper society should allow.

This game that they were playing had shifted rules somewhere in the middle, and Betty could not help but think they were heading into dangerous territory. She should make a light-hearted comment, tease him for his neediness, perhaps make light of her new friendship with Veronica. But none of the quips surfaced, and she was still staring wide eyed at Jughead.

Further testing the limits of her heart, he grabbed her hand, the electricity she felt the day prior just as potent as it was then. He seemed to debate internally for a few moments, before he bent down, keeping their eyes locked in a gaze, and he kissed her hand for five seconds longer than he should have.

“Until this evening, Lady Elizabeth,” he walked backwards until he was far enough away that she could no longer see the blue of his eyes, and he turned. Betty had been holding her breath from the moment his lips left her hand and she found her breathing now coming in short pants.

She could still feel his lips on the back of her hand. She knew that his top lip was soft and smooth, and his bottom lip while full, was slightly chapped.

She also knew that she was in trouble.

Evening her features to the best of her ability, she turned around and noticed for the first time that the music had ceased. All the performers were gone, and only Veronica, wearing a mischievous grin and four maids wearing eerily identical scandalized faces remained stationed in the hall. With a simple wave of her hand, Veronica shooed the maids away and motioned for Betty to sit with her in the chairs that had been obtained for viewing the auditions.

“That was certainly a cozy interaction,” Veronica raised her eyebrows, “In the Western States we do not even kiss hands goodbye, far too intimate.” Veronica let the t’s be over enunciated to punctuate her point.

“It is just a flirtation Veronica, neither of us are expecting anything more,” it sounded hollow to Betty, but she knew that is how he regarded the situation. Or she thought he did.

“Do you desire more?” Veronica was keeping her tone light, letting Betty decide the weight of whatever truth she decided to reveal. But it was clear Veronica did expect truth and not platitudes.

Betty stared at her hands, trying to sort through her own feelings on the matter. There was something about Jughead that pulled her in, even when he was infuriating her, she was drawn to him, curious about him, always eager to know more. She found that she enjoyed his attentions not to please her own vanity, but rather she liked being the one to surprise him, make him laugh, even make him scowl. She would never tire of him, and that terrified her.

“I do not know, Veronica.” It was the truth and saying the words out loud felt like both a defeat and a triumph. She could not deny that her feelings for Jughead were edging past an easy flirtation, but she could admit that she was not ready to open herself up to heartbreak. She was certain her heart could not survive a second fracture.

Veronica nodded her head knowingly, “Be careful B, nothing good ever came from runaway emotions.” Veronica took her hand and smoothed her thumb over the spot that Jughead just kissed as if to help ease her inner turmoil. Her ministrations did little to shake the memory of his lips.

Seeking the easiest path to tame her disrupted heart, Betty’s logical mind focused on Jughead’s imminent departure, and that immovable fact settled her resolve. She needed to be cautiously distant with him. She could be kind but the teasing and the kisses – especially the kisses – could not continue. He was going to leave here, and as time passed their acquaintance would be sporadic, matching the pattern of the early years of their lives. He was also a future king, and a marriage within the year would be required. She could not entertain any greater fantasies, no matter how they made her heart fly.

Betty could practically feel her body sink deeper in the chair, and all desire to do anything, to add productivity to the day ceased. Seeing this renewed sadness Veronica stood, taking Betty with her, “I believe this is a perfectly appropriate time to consume our feelings, the tastings should be ready for us.”

The two women traveled arm in arm to the dining hall where an assortment of courses was waiting for them in miniature portions. The cook, Valerie, awaited them and excitedly walked them through all the options available to them. While Betty had been worried about Veronica’s reaction to the goods of the River Kingdom, she did not share the same concern when it came to Valerie’s cooking. She was creative and artistic, balancing flavors that practically sang in your mouth. Veronica relied on Betty more for her opinions, as choices became far more difficult, and additional outside input was required.

As Betty bit into a strawberry covered in the finest Eastern Chocolate, she let it ease some of the pain and uncertainty that bubbled from her decision regarding Jughead. She laughed humorlessly, acknowledging that if culinary indulgences were required to ease the mere possibility of heartbreak from Jughead, she could only imagine what would be required for a full-blown shattering of her heart.

She was smart to tame these feelings now before it was too late.

***

As he turned the corner away from Betty, Jughead flattened himself against the cool stone wall. His fingers gripped at the unevenness in the bricks, hoping that the harsh edges would cut into whatever trance had overtaken him.

He kissed her hand. With his mouth. While staring at her like a lunatic.

What in the holy hell was he doing.

He thought he was flirting with her, a pastime that was quickly becoming one of his favorite hobbies. But somewhere between asking her to make a promise to him, and him leaving her with a goodbye kiss (it may have been on her hand, but it fueled images of kissing her elsewhere) his intentions had shifted to something else entirely.

Jughead had chased girls before, never catching them, but always enjoying the pursuit. Winking at women after an innocently suggestive comment. Complimenting a beautiful woman on her dress and her manner. Engaging in subtle touches and glances. Little bits of intrigue that never morphed into anything substantial. He had deluded himself into thinking that was what he was engaging in with Betty, but the feelings he felt for her were foreign and overwhelming to him. Every time he turned a corner, every time he heard a laugh he looked for her, even for traces of where she had just been. Jughead was willingly drowning in her.

King Forsythe Pendleton Jones II, FP to close friends and acquaintances and father to Jughead and JB, had taught Jughead through unfortunate means, the dangers of addiction and trusting too deeply in a woman. While the Serpent Kingdom had done its best to dilute such rumours, there was truth to the theory that their queen had run off with a Count from another kingdom. Jughead was twelve at the time, and well versed in the fleeting fancies of his mother. When she left, he was neither stunned nor hurt, assuming that she would eventually come back. He was confident that the advantages of her royal status were too tempting to abandon. However when Jughead asked his father when his mother would return, FP gruffly told him, “Marriage is forever son, she is queen regardless if she wants to be a wife or mother.”

It became clear that Queen Gladys Jones wanted neither of those latter roles, and save an untraceable letter on the days of their birth each year, he and JB were left without a mother. The abandonment also briefly threatened their father, who dove into his large cache of rum and whiskey, using its sedation to ease the rejection from his wife. FP was a master at hiding his addiction to the public, keeping the kingdom ignorant of his disease, but Jughead and his sister became victims of tirades lambasting the lies that are marriage and love.

“Love is too fickle to be trusted as the basis of commitment.”

“Trust should never be given blindly.”

“Marriage is lifelong war with no true victor.”

“Women are all witches, casting their spells and toying with the mortals for their enjoyment.”

For almost five years, those sentiments were repeated to Jughead, cementing his own intention to eventually succumb to an arranged and politically advantageous marriage. In his twenty-two years he had never been tempted to deviate from that path. There had been women to peak his interest, but the main issue with courtships based on affection were their brevity. Ever the logician, Jughead surmised most marriages failed due to the clouded infatuation of their origins. Attachments were never given the luxury of time, leaving vast chasms of uncertainty regarding the manner of their now lifelong partner. When Jughead was seventeen, FP who was finally and permanently sobered, attempted to walk back the vitriol of love and attachment, but the damage to Jughead’s view had already been established. Love was an illusion, a mythical creature to chase but never catch.

Meeting Elizabeth Cooper had disrupted Jughead’s worldview. Logic had always been his guiding compass and dedicating large swaths of time to thinking about Betty and constructing bon mots for the sole purpose of gaining a reaction from her, were mocking that logic. Betty was a fever, skewing his behavior akin to FP’s alcohol-soaked manner. But he could not, or would not, give a name to whatever attraction he was feeling towards Betty.

Although he consciously was aware that his feelings would lead towards disaster, he had no energy, and no desire to fight whatever this delirium was, instead throwing himself into it with blind, and most likely foolish, gusto.

Returning to his chambers, and now facing the need to fill time in his day, he took out the book Betty had given him from his desk. His now warped logical compass told him that it would distract him from Betty, which was ridiculous, as its entire reason for being in his possession was due to that very distraction. He also chose to sit at his desk and indulge in the novel, convenient in its vantage point to Betty’s currently empty chambers. (He still was not observing when he was not supposed to, Toni was a terrifying little pixie).

The story was as engaging as Betty’s fluid retelling in the inn’s parlor. He was grateful that she had kept the ending a secret as he raced through its narrative, barreling toward an unexpected climax. After finishing a book, the thirst for more and the slight exhaustion of exercise colored his mood towards restlessness. And hunger, always hunger. He looked through the window to gage the sun’s location in the sky. Finding it situated firmly in late afternoon, but still hours from dinner, he returned to the book, hoping to extract more mystery and meaning from its carefully constructed pages.

He thumbed towards a section in the middle that was home to some particularly well written passages. Using his finger to trace the delicate script, he noticed some ink had faded and smudged. Alarmed, and worried of harming the rare book, he looked to his finger to remove the smudged ink and found it bare. Returning to the page, Jughead noticed some sections of ink more faded than others, clearly the product of time and extended perusal. As he closed the book and set it on its spine, the book fell naturally into certain places in the novel, marking, at least in Jughead’s mind, clues into the mind of its owner. Betty had mentioned that this story was one of her favorites, and she, like him, clearly returned to familiar words often, never letting the story become to faded in one’s mind.

Fully succumbing to his foolish obsession, he started examining the book for glimpses into the personality of its owner. The book fell open naturally to some of the more supernatural and chilling passages, cementing his belief that Betty was a wonderful oddball who delighted in scary stories. It was the faded ink however, that got his heart racing.

Jughead had accused her of being a hopeless romantic while they were back at the inn, and the lines faded from countless tracing of fingertips only served as evidence to his claim. He found himself memorizing her favorite lines, tattooing them into the inside of his mind to be recalled upon at any moment.

“Love is a phantom, and I have never been more grateful to be haunted.”

“It was just the echo of her voice, but he would fruitlessly follow it down the labyrinth.”

“The promise was reckless, but freely given, which made it invaluable.”

“When time finally gave up its relentless march, all he could hope was that he would be with her, forever frozen in her embrace.”

The light slowly started to retreat from the room, and hours later when a maid approached his door to announce dinner, he found himself racing the halls to see her face sooner.

This eagerness was embarrassing.

Entering the dining hall, Jughead observed that all his dinner companions had arrived prior to him, despite his hustle. His eyes naturally found Elizabeth who was engaged in deep conversation with Veronica, who occupied the seat he desired for himself. Jughead had yet to have any meaningful conversation with the future queen, but he found his disposition towards her skewed toward the negative.

Betty caught his eye, smiling softly, as he took his seat next to Archie, across from Veronica, diagonal from Betty, all being overseen at the head of the tale by King Frederick. A private conversation clearly was an impossibility, and Jughead tried not to let his disappointment colour his mood for the entirety of the meal.

Betty, for her part, was suspiciously quiet and averse to his gaze. She avoided starting any conversation, and only held private conversations with Veronica and answered questions simply when asked of her. Betty’s mood was clearly changed from the interaction this morning, and he was concerned that his impromptu kiss had harmed the easy camaraderie they had constructed over the past few days.

When the king asked where Jughead had disappeared to this afternoon, his response was directed and delivered to the quiet blonde.

“I sequestered myself in my room to read the most marvelous book, an original novel actually,” Betty’s eyes snapped to his and she immediately looked away lips moving slightly as if she were talking to herself. Convincing herself.

“How do you spend a whole afternoon reading?” Archie queried garnering Jughead’s attention. Jughead found it endearing that Archie asked out of genuine wonderment, and not sarcasm. Written words were never particularly adept at keeping Archie’s attention.

“Well Arch, some of us enjoy scary stories,” he laughed at Archie’s blanched expression recalling his friend’s aversion to the genre. “It is an original novel actually given to me by a friend.” He chanced a glance at Betty who had stopped eating and was staring at her plate.

“A rare gift; must be a good friend to trust you with such a treasure,” Fred remarked from the head of the table, while Jughead tried to keep his gaze focused and his voice steady as he replied.

“I dare hope that they are.”

There was a clattering of silverware that was ignored due to the arrival of servers clearing their meal.

Betty stood abruptly as soon as the servers had left through the staff exit, and excused herself from dessert. She lamented that she had sampled far too many treats that afternoon and was eager for rest. Veronica eyed her with both worry and suspicion, but Jughead saw his opportunity and he did not hesitate.

“I shall escort you back Lady Elizabeth, I am due to stand guard this evening, thus I must retire to my own chambers to change.”

Forgetting herself, Betty interjected, “You are in the Serpent guard rotation?”

Dampening his smile, he softly answered, “A prince never subjects his knights to duties he himself would not perform.”

Closing her dropped jaw, Betty nodded briefly as they made their farewells.

Exiting the dining hall, Jughead was struck with a flash of boldness as he looped Betty’s arm with his own, connecting them, and effectively slowing their pace. Betty stiffened but she did not pull away from him.

Surprising Jughead, Betty spoke first, “Will the morning still be adequate for our meeting? If you will be out for a large swath of the evening, we can postpone.” Betty was staring at her feet and her voice was quieter than normal. He thought she tightened her grip on his arm as she almost whispered, “But perhaps earlier is better, more time to follow leads and solve the case. So, you can return home.” On the word “home” she finally turned to face him, the pleading in her green eyes evident.

Jughead was getting better at reading between the lines with Betty, and he felt as if her fist were tightening around his heart and not his arm. Even through his own turmoil, he never thought he would find Betty in a similar state. He was good looking and charming (well most of the time) and he was used to attracting attention. All his previous flirts ended with pouts and a tinge of rejection, but no real harm. While he knew Betty had enjoyed their banter, he did not give any serious consideration to her feeling like himself.

To injure his own heart was one crime, to harm hers would be treason. He could not bear to hurt her, nor could he offer anything more than his friendship. His aversion to whirlwind love affairs was imbedded in his psyche, not to be altered.

The intelligent and merciful course of action would be to cease the flirting, fall into an easy friendship, and wallow in whatever misery would befall him, while sparing the beautiful woman beside him. The potential misery, even as he considered it, wore away at his nerves.

Jughead Jones was already too far gone.

He could make no promises, but he found himself speaking a truth, “I do not intend to leave immediately after our duty has been fulfilled.” This was not a promise; his time was not his own, but his intent was genuine.

Betty stopped them and angled her body towards him, still not relinquishing Jughead’s arm to his great delight. She did not say anything for a long period of time the thoughts clear but unreadable flashing across her expression. Jughead, willing to wait, started counting in his head, he reached eight by the time Betty spoke one simple, but weighty, word.

“Why?”

Jughead pondered several avenues of response, but Betty was a woman of mystery and symbolism, and he settled one sentence. It was a simple quotation from her book, and Jughead knew it was cryptic, but he hoped her interpretation mirrored his.

“Because there is time in desperate need of spending.”

Several days previously during Archie’s marriage announcement, Jughead watched as all the stress drain from Betty leaving radiant sunshine its wake. Experiencing it again so close was like floating weightlessly in warm water, free and safe. Betty gave his arm a gentle squeeze and as they resumed their walk, she pressed her body slightly into his.

The linked pair arrived at Betty’s chambers where he bid her a simple goodnight, avoiding, at least for this evening, kissing her hand goodnight. Jughead was thrilled at her look of slight disappointment. He promised to see her in the morning, no matter how exhausted he may be from his evening post.

As he reached his own chambers, changing for his guard shift, the worries he had concerning his relationship with Betty were shed along with his previous dress. He did not know what the future held but was content to discover it along with Betty.

Considering his emotions well dealt with, he gave no further thought to the nature and depth of his emotions for Lady Elizabeth, which was for the two young people’s best interest.

For if Jughead Jones knew he was well over halfway in love with Elizabeth Cooper, he would fulfil the destiny set out buy his mother and flee.  

***

Alternating her glance from her time piece to the door of the study, Betty was lying in wait. It was a minute until six bells, and in the previous fifteen minutes that she had been standing watch, she had not seen Jughead enter the room. As the bells neared closer to their allotted start of the day, Betty felt the beginnings of nerves prick at her mind. Perhaps he overslept, or was too tired from his previous watch the night prior. He was typically prompt, and it was unlike him to cut such an occasion so close to the deadline.

Perhaps he too was off waiting in an alcove nearby, not wanting to seem too enthusiastic. When she arrived she was overcome with a petty need to at least appear hard-to-get. If he were to appear early as well, her exceptional timeliness might appear overbearing and give herself away. Her own convoluted logic failed to acknowledge that such timeliness would be well received if he mirrored said eagerness. Perhaps he was testing her, engaging in a sort of staring contest to see who would give into their impatience first and enter the study.

Betty let out an audible sigh, as this childish thinking was complete at odds with the easy and comfortable relationship that her and Jughead had developed. Such overwrought machinations were more akin to the mess of overthinking and misinterpretation of their initial acquaintance. Such eagerness and desire for immediate answers were ill founded. They had time for their relationship to be what it needed to become (or not become), thanks to his extended stay.

Soothed by that thought, and finally hearing the beginnings of the six morning bells, she walked the ten or so paces to the door and stepped into the presumably empty study. Upon witnessing the sight before her, she fell back into the door causing it to slam with a loud thud, a sound that was immediately accompanied by her gasp, the combination of unladylike sounds announced her arrival. Jughead spun around, and upon seeing Betty, cracked that delicious smirk of his and opened his arms wide towards his masterpiece.

“Your thoughts m’lady?”

Betty tried to speak but her voice was stolen by the vision before her, as her feet moved closer and her arm lifted towards Jughead’s work.

The construction was simple but effective. An overly large sheet was draped over a rope tied tight across the room from old iron hangings used for the lanterns, now laying ignored on the stone floor. Once the canvas was engineered, Jughead took sewing needles and pinned the letters, notes from Betty, and statements from her home’s staff, and arranged them into a rough chronological order. From that baseline, he had taken twine and pinned it between pieces of evidence not directly in the timeline, like the ledger, or connections he had made himself. There were captions to these connections written in scribbled shorthand on torn pieces of parchment that were not her own, and moving ever closer, she traced her hand over sloppily elegant script, that she assumed to be Jughead’s.

She looked back at him, her mouth still open with shock and awe, as she observed Jughead pacing towards the front of the room by the door, mid an explanatory rant.

“Officially this study is being requisitioned for Serpent use, but that is a simple excuse to keep the castle staff out of the room. In truth, this is all ours.” He stopped his pacing, both verbally and physically to look at Betty, her silence now rooting nervousness in his face. “Sorry Betty, you probably think I am crazy.”

Far from it really, and she wanted to grab his face to assure him of that, until she remembered her earlier judgement to practice restraint. 

Easy. Betty reminded herself not to dwell upon what any particular gesture meant in greater context, she simply needed to let this be easy.

She placed one hand on his face to turn it to her, and once she had his attention, placed her other hand on his opposite cheek to keep his eyes on her.

“I am in awe of this Jug. I feel like I need to catch up with you, both in the investigation and alertness, how are you this awake?” They both laughed as he briefly rested his forehead on hers before they parted turning to face his timeline.

“There was a shipment of coffee from the Fire Kingdom delivered early this morning,” he said it as he mischievously lifted a mug she had not noticed before to his full lips.

“Jughead!” Her family had always been able to afford the rare and expensive delicacy, but storms in the southern seas had prevented any shipments for weeks, and the River Kingdom had not housed fresh coffee for over two months.

Betty tried to grab at his mug, but his height and attentiveness were to his advantage and he easily moved it out of her grasp, laughing (cruelly, Betty thought) at the effort. She pouted at him and batted her eyelashes as best she could, only increasing the strength and volume of Jughead’s laughter.

She briefly considered resorting to violence until he ducked behind the gap in the sheet and came back with a piping mug of coffee for her, along with a refill of his own.

“So feisty for so early in the morning Betts,” he gestured behind the curtain while handing her the mug, revealing a thermal jug the size of a small wash basin, “I managed to swipe a large carafe to keep us sane this morning, I think we will need the comprehension enhancement.”

His tone turned serious as they faced the sheet together, Betty examining his various connections and leads, reading through his captions and conclusions based on their minimal evidence. She agreed with all of the connections thus far, but all strings, twines and suspects lead to one central point, that as of yet remained a mystery to the pair of them.

“Why were they running away,” she didn’t say it as a question, but a statement, the axis on which the entire mystery turned.

“Precisely. That is our inciting incident, we discover why they were fleeing, we can figure out any possible motives for keeping them away, and narrow down our list of suspects.”

Betty looked at the sheet, and back at Jughead and raised a singular eyebrow in his direction, “The list is already fairly narrow.”

Jughead shot her a mock insulted expression, but really, there was no need for offence, as Betty was depressingly correct. There were three suspects scribbled on parchment which were in turn, haphazardly attached to the sheet. Betty would have placed all those names on their murder tapestry herself, plus one more crucial suspect.

In order of most ridiculous to plausible, the first name isolated in a corner of the sheet with almost no strings tying it to any evidence was “random criminal”. Though their motive was suspect at best, if a rather capable ruffian were to see a crown prince meandering around a countryside that was not his own sans his usual protection, he would have been an unavoidable temptation. 

Gesturing towards the suspect, Betty voiced her obvious counterpoint, “While plausible, the amount of coincidence and negligence for the event to come to fruition is a rather profound,” Betty glanced at Jughead, slightly afraid of his reaction, but he was not looking her way. Instead he was nodding, and presumably reading her mind by pointing to the next least ridiculous theory. A westerner, looking for purchase in a new land.

The very existence of an engagement between a prince and a non-ranking daughter of a wealthy man was proof of that. But again, Betty found issue with such a hypothesis, “A simple murder does them no good unless they have another card to play to gain favor in power,” Jughead simply smiled in agreement, as he pointed to the last, and most obvious of suspects.

“Clifford and Penelope Blossom.” Their heir was fleeing, and their need to preserve the Blossom name and lineage was clear. Though she knew she would make an obvious suspect, she was warmed that Jughead had omitted her friend’s name from the rest of her family. Given their well documented hatred, she was a little surprised he did not place her name on the sheet simply borne out of pure spite. 

But even a great enemy knew that fierce woman would never take down her own pillar of strength.

The motives were hazy for all theories, and they would be unlikely to reach a conviction from an Allied court without further concrete evidence. 

“We need a motive, Jug.”

“That we do, and hopefully this,” he bent over into a satchel pulling out the ledger brandishing it front of Betty and throwing it on the table, “Will illuminate a new path of the investigation to follow.”

“Before we get to that there is one more name to put onto our theory...sheet...here,” Betty was suddenly uneasy. There was an obvious name missing from the suspects, and unfortunately Betty knew why. It was clear to her that Jughead had already considered the name, and even though it remained absent from the rest of the evidence, remained a viable suspect in his mind. He had kept the name unwritten to spare her feelings, and most like avoid revisiting the unfortunate beginnings of their relationship.

Taking matters into her own hands, Betty moved to a nearby table where she found the spare parchment, quills and ink that he had brought to complete his early morning project. She took an already torn piece of parchment and scribbled one singular name onto its surface, and turned to the sheet. Unable to locate her last necessary tool she finally turned to Jughead. He was eyeing her with trepidation and a dash of hope, a hope that made her heart jump forward into her ribcage.

“Sewing pin, Jug?”

He dug into his pocket and proffered the requested item towards her, but not before he took her hand in his. She wondered if the rush of feeling would ever cease when they touched.

She hoped not.

“Are you sure about this Betty?”

Instead of answering she pinned the last name onto the sheet. “Hal Cooper,” staring them down in Betty’s stark script. While she knew the Cooper women to be innocent, she herself had long held suspicion towards her father. Without looking at Jughead, she voiced her reasoning.

“He is not kind, Jug. And to have his daughter and heir flee from him, would inspire...some wrath.”

Jughead placed his hand on her shoulder, and feeling bold, placed the other on her waist. Gently, but present nonetheless.

Betty leaned into him for comfort, her heart racing with the increased contact. Her mind however found peace being so close to him. 

“I am so sorry Betty.”

Not wanting to cry so early in the morning, Betty broke out of their quasi-embrace to move toward the table which held the ledger, “Let us focus on more productive endeavours.” Betty, did an about face to grab the parchment and ink, and turned again to face the ledger, opening the book for both her and Jughead to see. 

“Let us go forward into the belly of the beast.” Jughead gave Betty a brief wary glance to confirm his partner’s emotional readiness before they returned their combined attention to the book before them.

The start of the ledger was marked for the beginning of the calendar year, and ended the previous month in September, coinciding with Jason’s presumed theft of the object. The months of January and February held the book’s first secret. The Forest Kingdom was deeply in debt, and bleeding money. The money needed to produce their goods was costing more than the steady but modest income returning to the ledger. The Blossoms in the previous years had needed to start planting trees to replace the ones that they harvested, and the added expense, and unreadiness of the new saplings,  was clearly cutting into their profits. Similar to the River Kingdom, the Forest Kingdom had cut into public services including schools, healing centers, roads, and even bell towers in some of the more remote villages. The taxes were not enough, and soon they would not be able to support even the most basic services.

But in March something changed. On the third day of every month a line item entitled “Shipment” with a set number of crates attached started to appear. Betty informed Jughead that the Blossoms shipped their parchment out in crates, but as they compared the parchment entries, they noticed those line items in the ledger were marked with the type of parchment, the number of crates, as well as the intended customer or merchant. The mystery line was not the only odd entry that started appearing in March. On the last Thursday of every month, which coincided with a busy shipment day at the ports, there was a second line, a credit line, dubbed “Payment”. The figure attached to these payments caused both Jughead and Betty’s eyebrows to rise. The amount of money being brought in through these singular payments was quadruple what their parchment trade brought in each month. 

With perfect regularity and steady profit, these tandem shipments and payments persisted through September where the ledger’s timeline ceased due to its theft. Looking at that final page, Jughead pointed out the final anomaly the book had to share.

“There is one odd debit here Betts, towards the end of the month.” Betty had missed it at first, as it appeared to be the familiar “Payment” line of all the prior months. September was different, there was the normal credit that appeared, but it was accompanied a few entries down by a rather substantial debit also entitled “Payment.”

“What were you buying Clifford?” Betty muttered under her breath as she paced to the window, attempting to grasp at any possibility. 

“And what exactly was he selling,” Jughead added coming to stand by Betty at the window. All possibilities that Betty entertained would not generate the amount of income seen in those credits, they needed more information, another clue. The obvious answer hit Betty with so much force she almost gasped from its impact.

“The Riders!” Betty exclaimed, eyes widening in realization, “They have to keep all port records, there should be a recipient attached to the shipments, as well as sender attached to the payment, not to mention the method of payment and, if we are lucky, corresponding communication for both.” The Riders did not keep a record of all letters and personal correspondence that they ferried across the land, but any documents, including letters, that were attached to trade were copied and catalogued to prevent, ironically, criminal activity.

“Any accompanying communication would be written in code, but it’s a good start,” Jughead went to pick up his riding gear, when Betty stopped him.

“Jughead we have to wait, the Riders take their confidentiality very seriously, so unless we want to bring the Constable into our theories,” Jughead visibly scowled at the suggestion, causing Betty to finish her thought through stifled laughter, “...well then we will have to wait until an opportune moment.”

“Betts, I am a prince. I think if I wave my crown around we will be allowed some leeway.”

“As delightful as that image is, such a display would also arouse suspicion, making our suspects warier than they already are.” Sensing that Jughead was going to dislike what she was about to say she stepped forward and gently placed her hand on his arm. “I have an old friend who joined the Riders a few years ago, he will help us, but he does not return from his current rotation until next Tuesday.”

“That is four days from now Betty,” Jughead let out a frustrated sigh, running his hands through his hair, causing his crown to slant sideways on his head and Betty’s hand to drop from his arm. With curiosity and a dash of jealousy coloring his frustration he added, “And why exactly do you know a rider’s travel schedule?”

“This may or may not be the first time that I have had to ask for a similar favor.”

Jughead gave a humourless chuckle while shaking his head, “Betty is there any place in this kingdom where you do not hold sway?”

Betty suddenly turned serious, and as such gave him a serious answer, “The convent where my sister is being kept.” Betty faced away from Jughead towards the window in an effort to control her features. Jughead, not fooled, cupped her face to turn her towards him.

“We will find a way Betts.” He wanted to gain access to the convent for Betty, so that she could finally speak to her sister and mother who she had been separated from for almost three weeks. But also, if he was being honest with himself, his driving motivation for accessing the convent was to gain more evidence for the case. Polly was their most valuable witness and she was fruitlessly being kept hostage in a nunnery. The insincerity of his thoughts caused his hands to drop and for him to turn away from Betty and towards the evidence. 

From behind him he heard shuffling and Betty’s soft voice, “We should update the timeline.”

They worked in silence for a quarter of an hour, the mood considerably shifted from the morning. After the new discoveries had been pinned and connected accordingly, Betty and Jughead stood side by side observing their work. They both knew that there was not much more they could do before they spoke with the Riders, but both were reluctant to leave, especially on such uneasy ground. 

“We should clear our minds, go for a ride or a walk,” Betty turned hopefully towards Jughead. She wanted more time with him, wanted to ease the tension that had built over the a last half hour. Jughead’s feelings mirrored hers exactly and the relief burst through his smile and response.

“To the gardens?”

As a response, Betty gently took his arm and steered him out of the study, down the steps and into the castle courtyard that led to the gardens. The day was beautiful the air crisp, fulling submitting to fall, but it seemed too impersonal, too false to start a conversation surrounding such a mundane topic. The silence was not uncomfortable, but shadows of tension still lurked unnecessarily between them. Luckily, Betty remembered a promise she made to Jughead the previous day, and their current stroll through the gardens provided an ideal setting to fulfill that vow.

“Veronica Lodge is having an entire table commissioned for the Feast of Promise tomorrow.” Betty felt a sense of accomplishment as Jughead stopped in shock at such an extravagance.

“There must be at least 20 guests attending, how on earth could one be constructed so fast, and pray tell, what precisely is wrong with the Andrews’ current, perfectly fine feasting table?” Jughead resumed their walk, but was looking at Betty instead of the path, causing her to move him every once and while to avoid hitting his tall head on passing tree branches, Jughead following her cues completely, trusting her guidance.

“Veronica wants the feast to take place at a circular table to promote equality and conversation among all the guests. She thinks that placing the guests in their customary position of title around the circular table in relation to her and Archibald will both satisfy the need for custom and her desire for equal conversation.”

Jughead scoffed as such an empty facade of equality. “A circular table of that size will necessitate shouting across, simply to be heard. I for one plan on eating in silence.” Jughead muttered as he flicked at a poor unsuspecting crab tree branch, causing several of the small fruits to fall onto the path.

“As the individual slated to sit next to you, I pray that is an exaggeration,” Betty smiled and moved her glance shyly to her feet. She knew that Jughead had thought he would be sat next to Veronica, as the highest ranking male at the table, and he would have thought that Betty would be placed next to Archie, as the highest ranking female, effectively putting her out of conversational range. Technically his assumption was correct, but she had persuaded a smirking Veronica to alter the seating arrangement slightly so that the old maid, but reigning Countess of her estate, Miss Grundy, would be seated next to Archibald instead. The excuse Betty voiced aloud was her very genuine desire not to be sandwiched between Archibald and Lord Reginald Mantle, a situation that certainly would result in Betty feigning illness to avoid the desperately awkward dinner. That was reason enough, but she would be lying if her alternative dinner companion was not an equal draw to enact the switch.

“Veronica allowed such a break in royal procedure? She does not strike me as the flexible kind,” Jughead could not quite hide his annoyance for the brunette in his tone of voice. Her role in keeping his investigative partner away from said investigation was bothersome, and he could not shake her air of elitism, an unforgivable trait in Jughead’s mind.

“She is actually a good friend, I have enjoyed spending time with her these past few days. I admire her will and opinion. I truly think you would like her too, if you allowed time to have a conversation with her. She is not nearly as arrogant as you have already decided her to be.” Betty looked at him with a slight scolding tone, and Jughead made no attempt to hide from the accuracy of her statement.

“You have had enough conversations for the both of us,” Jughead muttered almost to himself, but Betty heard every word and could not resist a tease.

“Are you jealous, your highness?”

Jughead nearly tripped, felling Betty with him, but he righted them both as Betty laughed at his clumsiness. Jughead hoped she thought the redness in his cheeks was from his ill-footing and not from the truth to her words.

“Regardless, I am very happy to be assigned you as my dinner companion. The dinner may not be half as insufferable as I originally anticipated.”

“Veronica will be sitting to your left, you could always strike up conversation with her,” Betty was doing a very poor job of hiding her smirk as she said it.

“I stand by my previous statement,” Jughead tossed her a pointed stare to prove his point, to which Betty simply rolled her eyes.

The Veronica themed conversation however seemed to stoke Jughead’s curiosity, “So what was the emergency she stole you away for upon our arrival to the castle the other day.” Jughead was finally facing forward, eyes on the path so he could avoid his own obstacles, but his glance returned immediately to Betty as she stiffened beside him. Her pace slowing until she stopped them completely.

“Betty?”

Betty did not want to lie to Jughead, it felt wrong in her bones to do so, but she could not bring herself to mar the image of his friend. She decided upon light deflection.

“There was a misunderstanding regarding my relationship with Archibald. As you are aware, he held feelings for me I did not share. I communicated this with Veronica.” She spoke slowly, each word carefully selected for optimal impact.

Jughead narrowed his eyes, knowing she was hiding some of the truth, he looked curiously at her for several moments until all suspicion cleared suddenly from his face. To her surprise and relief he quickly changed the subject to, of all things, his favorite flower. Lilies, as it turned out.

Sensing the diversion, and welcoming the ridiculousness of it, she remarked on how odd it was that a prince would have a favorite flower.

“How is that ridiculous. If someone were to wrong me, you would be surprised on how far an apology bouquet of lilies would go to appease my fragile ego,” Betty laughed long and loud at that causing a look of faux offence to pass Jughead’s face.

“I will have to keep that in mind Prince Jones.”

Rolling his eyes at that name, his hand fidgeted almost imperceptibly, but Betty still observed the motion. “What for you Lady Elizabeth, what flower would inspire your good favor?” Jughead attempted a light tone, but Betty could sense his seriousness, which in turn inspired her stomach to flip and spin.

Untwining her arm from his, he barely had time to look confused as Betty grabbed his hand and steered them off the main cobbled path down a slightly beaten dirt trail. They passed some slightly overgrown hedges to an almost entirely shadowed clearing, revealing a line flowering bushes hidden behind the green wall. Populating the brush were large, blush colored flowers that heavily perfumed the air around them. 

“Peonies, Jughead, always peonies.” Betty bent down to smell one, and turned the face of a particularly large bloom towards Jughead so that he could see, the flower made more beautiful but the shining blonde beside it. There was a peculiar expression on Jughead’s face as he stared at Betty, and she felt her breath quicken. The moments dragged by and the air became heavier between them as Betty released the flower and stood, noticing that Jughead had followed his feet to be close enough to her that she could feel his breath on her face and she had to crane her neck to peer into his eyes. She could not tell if they were darker, of if the obstructed light was producing such an illusion. She found her face moving closer to his, to get a clearer look at his eyes. Or at least that was her poor excuse. A half second slipped by and she could feel the shadow of his lips near her own.

The spell was broken by the chiming of the bells, as Betty stepped back, startled, almost tripping as she fell from he tiptoed stance. She could see Jughead count the chimes, and when a low clang chimed a second time he cursed under his breath.

“I apologize Betts, I promised Arch I would spar with him this afternoon, but I will see you at dinner tonight?”

Betty nodded as Jughead turned to leave, trying to compose herself after their moment, when Jughead turned around and shattered the fragile glass of her composure to pieces.

He looked at her, his entire manner uncertain, “May I ask that you save the place beside you for me this evening, I feel as if Veronica has stolen you from me long enough.”

Betty wanted to laugh at his jealousy, make a comment that she had just spent the whole morning and the first part of the afternoon with him, and that she was due to spend some time with her new friend Veronica instead. But she could form no such sentiment, the only response that fell from her lips was a breathy, “Yes” that escaped from her lungs on its own accord.

Jughead held her gaze for much longer than he had kissed her hand, and Betty was about to do something foolish when Jughead broke their eye contact and bid her goodbye.

As she watched his retreating figure, Betty, eager to shake the clouds of whatever lust had overtaken her, was struck with an idea. She would spend the afternoon with Veronica, as her dinner conversation had been otherwise claimed, but before doing so there was another errand she felt compelled to complete.

She quickly jogged to a different part of a garden, where she hoped to find her quarry still blooming. Turning the corner, Betty could not contain her childish squeal of delight upon finding what she was looking for. She quickly hand plucked several of the large white lilies, and ran up to her room to find a pink ribbon with which to tie them together. Knowing that it was Midge’s day to attend to her rooms, and trusting no other soul for such an important task, she waited no more than half an hour for the petite girl to enter her rooms. 

She handed Midge the bouquet as well as her instructions to place them on Jughead’s desk.

Midge gave her a look that pointedly declared that Betty was not fooling anyone, but said nothing as she performed her duties in Betty’s chambers before leaving with the gift.

Betty understood that she was not practicing enough discretion, and instead she was providing ample fuel to fan the the flames of gossip that spread through the castle and out into the township.

But as Betty traveled to Veronica’s chamber, she could not conjure enough desire to care, instead allowing her mind to wander to thoughts of peonies, lilies, and silver crowns.

***

Jughead made plans to meet Archie at half past two, and since he rushed reluctantly away from Betty in the gardens, he was still set to arrive five minutes before the deadline, and surely before Archie, who was terminally incapable of arriving anywhere in the realm of “on time.”

To Jughead’s shock and slight dismay, Archie was waiting for him when he entered the armory, and further confounding Jughead, he found Archie sitting completely still at the edge of barrel, his face arranged in the unmistakable mask of deep thought. The entire tableau before him was shaking Jughead’s most fundamental beliefs.

“Feeling unwell, Arch?”

Archie jumped, not sensing that Jughead had entered the room until his voice informed him otherwise. Staying true to form, and comforting Jughead that all was right with the world, Archie looked at him with a confounded expression.

“You are early, an occurrence heretofore unseen and unheard of.” Jughead said it gravely, though Archie had enough good sense and knowledge of his friend’s sense of humour to know that he was being insulted. As retribution, he seized a nearby empty flour sack and chucked it towards Jughead who easily evaded the flimsy object.

“Piss off, Jug I just needed somewhere to think.”

“Also heretofore unseen and un..hrrrmph,” Jughead’s quip was interrupted by Archie tossing the butt end of a sword Jughead’s way. Not waiting to hear more of Jughead’s sass, he turned to move outside towards the open field, where Jughead quickly followed.

Sensing Archie’s genuine distress, Jughead kept all other retorts to himself, and took his dulled practice blade out of its scabbard just in time to parry a strike from Archibald. Quickly righting himself into his stance, he continued sparring with Archibald who came at him with almost recklessly persistent offence. Jughead, de facto leader of the most powerful army in the world, was unmatched in his skill with a blade, having been trained in combat since youth. Archie for his part, was strong, agile, and well trained, enough to act as an acceptable sparring partner for Jughead. Today however, Archie was aggressive and sloppy, so while Jughead was on constant defence, the level of effort needed to subdue Archie was minimal.

After a little over a quarter of an hour elapsed, Archie finally relented enough to break so that both fighters could retire briefly for some water. Arch poured water directly from the basin into his hand, sipping quickly from his cupped palm, when he was finished Jughead followed suit, but kept his wary gaze on his friend. Archie had picked up his sword, wordlessly declaring his readiness to continue when Jughead rested his own sword against the armory’s outer wall, and put both palms face up towards Archie.

“Easy there Arch, we could continue this exercise of futility, or we could have a conversation as to what has you wound tighter than a spindle.”

Archie’s stance eased but he kept his sword in his grasp and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking, “Apologies Jug, I’ll tell you but may we continue sparring, I need to keep moving.”

Jughead kept his wary stare on Archie, but tentatively picked up his sword and resumed his stance. He and Archie continued to spar, but now with a more typically controlled style. After they had been fighting a few minutes, Archie began to recall the story of his morning.

“Veronica has this...stipulation in the weeks before our marriage,” Archie aimed a quick jab towards Jughead’s torso which he evaded and mocked by giving the outstretched arm a light tap with his sword, before they both resumed a defensive stance. “We are to meet every other day and share three things about each other. Today was the first day we met.”

Jughead feinted and parried, though Archie ably defended as they circled each other, “That does not sound entirely terrible, unless she extracted some painful truths out of you,” on the word painful, Jughead executed a swift small strike to the same place on Archie’s arm that he hit previously.

“I did not really know what to say, and she had me share first. The first thing I shared with her was that I do not enjoy scary stories, and that I have difficulty sleeping afterwards,” Archie angled a strike which Jughead blocked with his sword and forced away with his blade angled outwards.

“True and vulnerable, not a bad start, Arch.”

“Temper your praise, the next two facts I shared were that my first, that my favorite meal is lamb chops, which I think she already knew after our first dinner together. The second was that my favorite place in the entirety of the castle is the stables where the horses and my dogs are kept. A place I am certain she would hate,” Archie made a sharp strike and landed a solid tap to Jughead’s shoulder.

“Both are true Archie, and given how much that woman likes to plan occasions, I am sure your favorite meal will be entirely useful.” Jughead stepped forward to strike but feigned as Archie moved to a more defensive stance.

“The truths I revealed are not the issue Jug,” Archie dropped his stance so completely that Jughead knew it would be in bad form to strike.

“The issue being…?”

“It’s what she shared, Jughead, she was so...entirely present and open. She told me that her parents have never once told her that they loved her. In consequence when she truly loves any one, friend or lover, she plans to tell them so every day. She showed me a scar on her hand from where she made a blood oath with her first friend, a friend who was killed in the Western riots. She told me pearls are her favorite gems because they are formed by accident when an invader enters the shell, thus turning a possible harm into a beautiful strength.”

Archie got lost somewhere during his story, and he ended looking into middle distance. Remembering his surroundings, he turned to Jughead and asked, dumbfounded,  “How on earth will a be a good husband to someone like her Jug?”

Several thoughts entered Jughead’s mind simultaneously. The first and most petty, was his frustration for Betty on her behalf. Archie had for many years believed that he and Betty would be married, so now he was inadvertently implying that she was less complicated and less interesting than Veronica. Jughead knew this to be false, but he also recognized that he was entirely biased where Betty was concerned and decided to keep this little parcel of information to himself.

The second thought was that he had perhaps misjudged Veronica. Betty liked her, which was endorsement enough, but these insights into her personality were deep and vulnerable. He was glad that his friend had gotten lucky to be arranged to marry such a woman. He also made a silent vow to attempt to tear his attention away from Betty during the Feast of Promise to have a proper conversation with Veronica. An interlude, he was certain Betty would endorse.

His third and final thought, and the one he chose to share with Archie, was defense for his friend. “Arch, your heart is so open, and your manner so loyal. She is a lucky woman to be joined with you in life and marriage.”

Archie flashed him a winning smile, shaking off the sentimentality to resume sparring positions. They fought for several more minutes, each practicing footwork and defense techniques more than attempting to land any actual strikes. 

“It causes embarrassment Jug, especially given the situation regarding Betty.”

Jughead was very suddenly and very sharply on edge. Betty had hinted at an indiscretion with Archie earlier, and he was intent on discovering the truth from the man himself, now was his most obvious opportunity. He did his best to appear disinterested, focusing instead on landing yet another strike on that same spot on Archie’s arm, as he asked, “There is a situation?”

“Blast Jug! You are going to cause a bruise there!”

Jughead smirked, “You will have to learn to defend better.” He kept the smirk in place to maintain the facade of his disinterest.

“I may have hastily asked Betty to be my Lady Convoy and had the poor sense to share that imprudent declaration with Veronica.”

Jughead had been in mid strike as Archie blurted his confession, and Jughead would blame the shock and not the blind rage building in him for the sharp stab Jughead landed on Archie’s shoulder, drawing blood. With his dull sword.

“Fuck, Jug!” It must have hurt greatly to resort to such crude slang, but Jughead could not bring himself to express remorse, instead unleashing a tirade on the unsuspecting Archie, who no doubt was expecting sympathy or mere gentle ribbing from his friend.

“Lady Elizabeth is a Duke’s daughter, and it is an insult to even offer such a position to a lady of her rank. Furthermore its an insult to Veronica to offer the position to any woman of any rank. How in holy hell could you possibly conceive this to be a reasonable idea?”

Archie had dropped his sword, and eyed Jughead’s armed stance suspiciously as he grabbed a clean rag stored near the water basin, dropping it the water and using the wet cloth to clean his wound. “I have loved her my entire life Jughead, I would be doing myself a disservice if I did not at the very least attempt to keep her.”

“Keep her?” Jughead still would not drop his dull, but now slightly bloody weapon. “She is not a possession Archie.”

Archie had the audacity to roll his eyes towards Jughead, “Obviously Jug, but I thought about this, Lady Convoy to the King is almost as good as any other marriage she could achieve. Her children would be guaranteed nobility at the highest rank, Counts and Countesses at the lowest. Women could ask for less advantageous situations.” Archie had removed his shirt, and now standing chest-bare in the field was attempting to tie a clean rag around his upper arm and shoulder covering his wound. “Come on Jug, help me with this?”

Jughead finally had the good sense to sheathe his sword and set it aside, no longer trusting himself to be in possession of it. He strode towards Archie and wrapped the makeshift bandage tighter than was necessary, inciting Archie to emit and involuntary hiss as Jughead finished the tie and stepped away. “This is childish Archie, if you knew even the smallest thing about her you would never believe she would desire such a situation!”

Archie scoffed and opened his mouth to speak, but Jughead was quick with a rebuttal. “What, do you think you know about her anyway Archie?”

Archie’s mouth flapped a few times but he finally managed to sputter several quick facts, “She loves children...she always gives people the benefit of the doubt...she...likes...pink…” Jughead acquiesced that Archie most likely knew more in regards to Betty, but as Archie never excelled at thinking quickly under pressure he should be impressed that he managed those three minor, though accurate statements.

Unfortunately for Archie, Jughead’s mood was far from forgiving.

“How about anything of substance Arch? What is her favorite book and why? What is her greatest annoyance? What would she be if she could be anything in the world? What is her favorite flower?” Jughead found his voice breaking towards the end of his speech but Archie appeared not to notice instead contorting his face into a scowl, no doubt trying to manifest the answers to any of his queries.

“There is more to Betty than just pink and sunshine Archie,” Archie had just finished putting his shirt back on and was reaching for his overcoat when his movements stilled completely.

“And when, precisely, did you start calling her Betty?”

Shit. Jughead reminded himself to stay on the offensive, and keep any signs of panic clear from his outward appearance. “Since she permitted me to, Archibald, she and I are allowed to be friendly.”

Archie took several strides toward him, close enough that Jughead could see Archie’s nostrils flaring, “And how friendly exactly did you and Lady Elizabeth become during your overnight adventure?”

Suddenly Betty’s story regarding her previous fiance gained more clarity, the exact nature of the accusations Archie laid upon Clayton were clear and brutal. “Planning to accuse me wanton behaviour and have me banished? I understand that is a common endeavour for you.”

Archie paled. “She told you about that?”

“She did.” Jughead took steps to tidy the space, as it was clear there would be no more sparring this afternoon. At least not with the swords involved. “And though absolutely no explanation is owed to you, I respect Betty’s honor enough to inform you that nothing happened during our evening away. We were trapped by weather in an inn where we spent the night in separate quarters.”

All of this was true. Archie’s initial question applied only to their time at the inn. There was no need to inform him about his kiss to her hand, their continued thrilling touches, and the fact that he almost kissed her not more than an hour ago near the peony bushes, nor that he had been replaying that moment during the entirety of their sparring match. 

“I apologize for implying, I am just not ready to lose her Jug,” though Jughead did not need him to clarify he added, his head hanging down, “She rejected my proposal.”

“No shit, Arch.”

Archie who clearly felt defeated, but was not prepared to relinquish the fight entirely, looked unwaveringly at Jughead and declared as plea and a warning, “I love her, Jug.” 

“No. You love an idea of her, Archie.”

Jughead turned and started towards the castle leaving Archie behind. He heard his friend calling after him in vain, but he feared what hateful words he volley at Archie in anger, so continued steadfastly towards the castle. 

As he mounted the castle steps Jughead’s thoughts cleared, ebbing his anger, leaving barbs of sadness in its stead. Archie was his oldest and dearest friend. At his most awkward and strangest, Archie stood by his side with no reservations, hesitations or teasing. The ugliness he displayed while voicing his accusations in regarding Betty was his darkest weakness. Archie had seen Jughead’s own dark misgivings, and it never once gave Archie pause. Did not Archie deserve the same benefit of the doubt? Was he jeopardizing his friendship over a woman?

These troubled questions were on the forefront of Jughead’s mind as he opened the door to his chambers. The sight that awaited him caused every nerve in his body to jolt to attention. 

Sitting on his desk was a small bouquet of lilies tied neatly together with a single pink ribbon. There was no note, no other identifying feature, but the sender’s identity was clear. 

Easing himself into his chair and holding his self declared symbol of apology, he laughed aloud that the woman who caused the rift between his dear friend, was now, merely by accident, taunting him to resolve said tension. 

There was another dark thought that took root deep in his mind as he pinched a white petal between his thumb and forefinger. A warning his father very frequently uttered, much like the other warnings of love and marriage, danced to the forefront of his mind. 

“The worst act of betrayal towards a friend is to steal their loved one from them.”

Though Jughead suspected Archie’s attraction to Betty was a mere empty fascination, and he was unequivocally certain that Betty held no reciprocating feelings, the dark pit of guilt still found it way into Jughead’s heart. 

He feared that it was the one warning he should heed; but also the one warning he was bound to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER GUYS. This is the 9th version. The original was about 5000 words and somehow morphed into Frankenstein's monster. There are parts of this chapter I am super proud of, and parts I have a lot of uncertainty about, so I really hope you leave some feedback (positive or negative) so I can keep writing a story you guys enjoy. :)
> 
> Recs by Kez:
> 
> "Betty was a fever"...that Jughead couldn't sweat out. Or at least that is how I read that line the 90 times I proofread it. Go listen to some Brendon Urie (I recommend his cover of Soul of a Man on youtube) and have a great day.
> 
> Lilies and Peonies are my personal favorite flowers. Thus they are Jughead and Betty's. Because reasons.
> 
> The theme of this chapter really is Fools Rush In, thus the title, and it reminded me of that really...interesting...romcom with Matthew Perry and Selma Hayek. Maybe don't watch that. Just know that it exists.
> 
> SO EXCITED TO WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER GUYS. All my love and thanks to you.


	7. Do you Promise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual this is self edited. Enjoy the Feast!

Information was a weapon, not sharp or impactful like a blade or an arrow, but instead more akin to a poison. Words seep into people’s minds, altering their behavior and allowing those who possessed the information to change people’s perception and manipulate their actions. Kevin Keller had always been a masterful wielder of knowledge. Complimenting that skill, he was adept at perceiving hidden truths to construct a more complete picture of the lives of those who dwelled in the River Castle, townships, and surrounding estates.

Typically gossip in the River castle township flowed like a steady stream, all carefully consumed and observed by the younger Keller. Perhaps after a scandalous event rained upon the kingdom, the gossip overflowed slightly, but for the most part, no tidbit passed Kevin Keller unheard. After the death of Jason Blossom, however, Kevin got lost in the mass of theories. He was unable to sort through the ridiculous to find the sources of truth underneath, a task further complicated by his personal tie to the tragedy. The pressure his father was under distracted Kevin from his normal consumption of secrets and hidden truths.

Constable Keller had hit a brick wall, and his doubts and fears were paralyzing all efforts, and Kevin was afraid and slightly ashamed to admit that the rumours surrounding his father’s failure in pursuing viable leads was closer to accurate than not.

Desperate for diversion, he was pleased that the arrivals of Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge had produced a waterfall of whispers that even the young gossip had difficulty staying current on the newest sordid hearsay. Typically, Kevin would indulge certain secrets to extract others, but that was made difficult by the involvement of his dear friend Betty, who was centered at the heart of the intrigue. The value of that friendship was the only currency that kept him from willfully trading in the gossip.

Now that he had a reasonable amount of intelligence, and theories to abed them, he made his way toward Veronica Lodge’s chambers, knowing he that a certain blonde would be ensconced in its depths for the entirety of the day. The morning bells rang their nine chimes, so he was confident they would be suitable enough for company. If not, he would wait impatiently for them to be so presentable.

Knocking on the door to Miss Lodge’s chambers, Kevin was unsurprised but slightly annoyed to be greeted by the face of Midge Klump.

“Why Midge, if I did not know better, which I do, one would assume you were upgraded to personal handmaiden of the queen apparent.”

Midge’s eyes widened as she stepped out into the hall quickly shutting the door behind her, “The ladies asked me specifically to be on hand today because they trust me.” She said the last part with a bit of superiority mixed with pride. Midge had always been a low-ranking maid, and her elevation of trust with the two ladies of the castle presented an opportunity she did not care to waste. Conveniently she was personally fond of Lady Elizabeth, and slowly gaining similar affection towards Miss Lodge, making the position more desirable. Even though their class statuses were divergent, they both treated her as equal, gaining her unwavering loyalty.

Unknown to both ladies however, was that Midge did have one indiscretion, and she could tell by the look on Kevin’s face that he knew exactly what she divulged, or more aptly, to who. He always knew.

“You should know by now you should never tell Moose anything of value, he is incapable of sharing information without embellishment.” Kevin took a step forward so that his stature was towering over the quavering maid. “Midge, I _will_ recall the entire salacious rumour to Betty, so let me inform you of your options. You can either let me reveal the rumours now but keep my sources hidden, or I will find Betty later today, most likely on her way to the feast, and divulge absolutely every bit of information that I have,” Kevin paused to toss a casual glance towards a panicking Midge, “You are serving the ladies after the feast correct?”

Kevin conveniently omitted that Moose never traded in gossip and was grateful that Midge did not endeavor to comprehend exactly _how_ Kevin extracted his information. Some secrets were meant to be kept.

His scare tactics were effective though, Midge permitted entrance and with a slight break in her voice, announced Kevin’s arrival to the two ladies occupying Veronica’s bedchamber. Both Betty and Veronica were in their dressing gowns, and while there were plenty of chaperones flitting in and out of the chambers, it was still slightly scandalous that a boy would be entertained in such a state. Betty, dear friend of Kevin’s, embraced him with no qualms, keenly aware his interest in her dressing gown was purely sartorial. Veronica, ever the observer, seemed to understand the same, and made no move to become more presentable. She did, however, eye him with mild contempt.

“Ah Sir Keller, we have a full day of preparedness ahead of us, as enjoyable as your presence is, you will only distract us.”

“You have eight hours Miss Lodge, and the pair of you have flawless skin and hair, this is clearly a session for building friendship and gossip, which clearly requires my presence.”

Betty poorly suppressed an amused grin at the accurateness of the statement, while Veronica arranged her face into a half-hearted scowl. Despite her slight resentment at sharing her friend she made a gesture for him to sit and make himself comfortable. “How are you aware that Betty would be present in my chambers?” Kevin rolled his eyes, not believing such a question owed its obvious response. He threw himself onto the bed and made no effort to delay his purpose.

“Betty Cooper, my dear, if you escape into the night with a dark-haired Prince, you should know that everyone will be pondering exactly what transpired in the late hours of that evening.” As Betty opened her mouth to counter, Kevin stopped her by adding, “And the behavior of you both in the three days since has inspired some wild imaginings my dear Lady Elizabeth.”

Sensing his purpose, Betty released a loud groan and sank into a comfortable plush chair near Veronica by the vanity. “Oh Kevin, let us hear these dreadful stories, in order of what the dear rumour mill thinks is least likely to most, please.”

Kevin had cause to share rumours pertaining to Betty prior to this occasion, and Betty’s request was always the same; share the ridiculous first, and work towards what popular opinion was inclined to assume were the real facts.

“I will spare you the outlandish and just share those rumours the mill is entertaining to be true.” The outlandish included Betty being a secret courtesan and Jughead a serial stalker, but those were fleeting fancies that no one truly believed. Betty took a deep breath to prepare herself, but unlike other times they participated in this exercise she did not look indignant. Kevin could tell she expected her behavior to arouse suspicion.

Good lord it certainly had.

“First theory is that Jughead and yourself have been having an affair that was initiated right before Jughead left for his Western education and continued through letters during the intervening four years. You kept it a secret, from the terminally jealous Archibald,” he spared a quick glance at Veronica whose only reaction was a repetitious nod and a slight eye roll, confirming her knowledge and agreement of the statement. “Now that he is to be wed, you have reignited said affair.”

Betty carefully considered the story, “It is not all that imaginative of a theory, I suppose...but how do they explain the absent years, my engagement?”

“Thus its cracking vulnerability, and why it’s slowly dwindling as a likely theory.”

Kevin paused to collect himself, the next theory was most unpleasant for both parties present in the room.

“The second rumour is that you are slinking about with Jughead to inspire Archie’s jealousy, now that he is to be wed.”

“For what purpose?!” “Who would believe Betty would do that?!” Were the immediate responses of Betty and Veronica respectively. Betty eyed Veronica with a surprised affection that she would defend her so easily, but it quickly passed as she turned back to Kevin to receive an answer. Kevin, while expecting an emotional reaction, had not quite prepared for the glares of two fierce women piercing into him, and felt the need to embrace a pillow over his chest to provide an illusion of protection.

“There are various reasonings, but the most prominent is that Archibald had made promises to Betty surrounding a future marriage, and his father’s political alliance disrupted those plans. Betty, as revenge set her sights on Jughead, the Prince’s best friend, and prime target for emotional sabotage.”

Betty was shaking her head and put her hand up indicating that she had a rebuttal for these rumors, “Why would I risk my reputation by taking Jughead to an inn of all places? That is far too severe a measure do you not think?”

Veronica was nodding, but Kevin wagged a finger in her direction, “Folk do not know that you were at an inn, most believe the pair of you were trapped at your duchy, and that Jughead had followed you based on previous intrigue. Apparently, you were seen in the gardens the day after his arrival, engaged in a... passionate discussion.” Kevin raised his eyebrows several times in succession suggesting that the conversation was perceived as romantic by most. “The day after you return from this interlude you are seen engaging in an unseemly long kiss to the hand, and just yesterday several servants and courtiers alike observed you and Jughead walking arm in arm in the gardens.”

“But why contribute this behavior to jealousy?” This question came from Veronica.

Ah yes, more uncomfortable information.

“Because of the argument that Jughead and Archibald had yesterday afternoon.”

Kevin intentionally paused so that the women could interject, their “Whats?” and “Whys?” After that business was attended to he shared, “A servant at the armory dropped eaves on the argument, but could not get close enough to discern the nature of the scuttle, only that Betty’s name was mentioned.”

Kevin glanced nonchalantly at the floor before continuing, “My personal assumption is that it pertains to Archie’s request for Betty to become his Lady Convoy,” Kevin pointed his slightly accusatory comment at Betty, miffed she did not tell him this information herself.

All the color drained from Betty’s face as she whispered, “Who else knows?” She was aware that Veronica had told Kevin but was suddenly struck with the possibility that this dreadful secret had seeped out into the collective mind of the township.

Veronica leaned over to grab Betty’s hand and glared so sharply at Kevin it almost caused him physical pain, “Keller better pray it is no one outside this room save for Archie.”

“No one else knows, I would never hurt Betty in that way,” he tried to return Veronica’s sharp gaze but did not believe he was entirely successful, “But if that is indeed what they were discussing, someone should inform those boys the importance of discretion.”

Betty rested her head in her hands and softly muttered to herself, but at a volume all could hear, “Jughead knows…”

“Tis only a theory, Betty, there is no guarantee that I am correct,” Kevin added softly, though he was rarely wrong in these matters, a trend that Betty was acutely aware of. To lighten the mood but also because not knowing was itching his curiosity he asked, “What exactly is going on between you and Prince Jones?”

He was anticipating many reactions, coy denial, embarrassment, shock, indignant outrage, but not the guilt that rested firmly on her features. “Kev…”

The weight of his name voiced as an endearment was all he needed to hear. What would bring the Serpent Prince, here to bring order and protection to the kingdom following Prince Jason’s death, and the young inquisitive blonde daughter of a duke to an inn outside of her duchy’s lands?

Most people would not be able to make the connection, but he could, he should have.

“You were carrying on the investigation...without my father.” He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Unsurprisingly his first reaction was indignation on behalf of his father, but that was a quickly fading spark. Betty had no reason to trust her father’s failing investigation and every reason to carry on the investigation independent of him. He was having difficulty conceding this to Betty when she continued, “He would have not followed the lead if we had given it to him.”

It was this simple fact that he could not ignore, for he knew she had arrived at the correct conclusion, but he still could not give her the satisfaction of complete forgiveness. “Fine, Betty.”

Betty, through years of diligent practice, could always read him better than that. He had already forgiven her, and now all that was required was to regain his good mood. Using gossip had always revealed itself to be a foolproof tactic. “Any final theories Keller?”

Kevin gave her a side glance that signaled that he was fully aware of her diversion, but he was willing to accede to avoid the unpleasantness. Veronica, sensing the mood change to something more positive, let out the breath she was holding.

“Just one my dear Betty, and it is the leading theory.” Suddenly Kevin was not as willing to share with his friend. Betty had displayed genuine terror at discovering Jughead might have learned of Archie’s proposal. The unexpected reaction had him wondering on her true feelings for the Prince. His brief hesitation faded as he realized that if these feelings were indeed more genuine, that was greater reason for her to understand these rumours. “The leading theory is that the serial flirt Jughead Jones is attempting to seduce the uncatchable Betty Cooper.” Veronica’s mouth dropped wide as she turned to face Betty, who surprised both her companions by letting out an uncontrolled cackle.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones III was a string of a boy until he was eighteen years of age, and you are informing me know that he is perceived to be a ‘serial flirt,’” Betty continued to chuckle to herself, but both Kevin and Veronica had skeptical looks arched first towards each other, and then to Betty.

“He has a reputation, Elizabeth,” the use of her full name caught her attention, but her face had still not turned serious. Kevin kneeled in front of Betty, taking both of her hands in his to emphasize his words as he continued his rationale, “Every townsperson has heard a story or two, of women in the Western Kingdoms or other kingdoms where he has been stationed with the Serpents, who were left jilted by the beautiful prince. Many of these stories come from those who do not participate in gossip, Betty. For that and other reasons it is the rumour most believe to be true.”

Veronica piped up softly from her seat next to Betty, “It’s true, I have heard several stories from girls in the Western Kingdom, one who encountered him directly. There was nothing overtly untoward in his behavior, but his attentions were decidedly marked,” noticing the uncomfortable look that passed her friend’s face she quickly added, “Betty I myself was a horrible flirt. His behavior was tame in comparison to mine – if indeed such chatter is true.”

The trio sat in silence for several minutes, two sets of eyes trained carefully on the thinking figure of the third.

“What other reasons?”

“Pardon?”

Betty shifted but repeated her question, “What other reasons do the townsfolk have to believe this to be true?”

Kevin had been deeply incorrect before, this was the worst truth he had to share. But Betty valued honesty, and he valued Betty.

“You. You Betty. You are the rich, beautiful, daughter of a duke who a half dozen men have tried to woo, and all but one has failed. The _one_ who succeeded was driven away by yet another man who failed to earn your favor. You are a myth, the beautiful mystery who tamed one former scoundrel and casts a spell on all others. To a man like the one Jughead Jones is perceived to be, you, my dear Elizabeth, are the ultimate prize. The ultimate win.”

Betty turned away from her companions, faced fixed in concentration, and Kevin felt miserable for inspiring this emotional distance, afraid he had been too abrupt in his speech. Veronica and Kevin did not move, did not shift in impatience as Betty contemplated what she needed to contemplate.

Suddenly, her mood was decided, and Betty shifted to turn to them shaking her head as she moved. This was perhaps the trait Kevin loved most about Betty. She was deeply intelligent and trusted her instincts and knowledge to make a sound judgement on a situation, with no further regrets or consideration. “No, there is more to him than that. I understand completely how it can misconstrued to form that conclusion, but they are collectively mistaken.”

A slow, rather terrifying smile grew on Veronica’s lips, “Really, and what evidence do you have to support this claim?”

Kevin almost kissed Veronica for her forthrightness as he moved back to the bed to observe the gentle interrogation. No matter the deluge of rumours and tangential evidence the public could glean on the situation, the truly delicious details lied with Jughead and Betty, and since he was unlikely to shake anything from that tall drink of water, Betty was his best source of information.

All the color that had drained from Betty’s face over the last topic of conversation quickly returned to her cheeks as she lamely defended, “That is private.”

“It is private. That means there are scandals to share?” Veronica further prodded, moving to rest her chin on her hand, eyeing Betty mockingly.

Betty quickly stood and started to pace, “It is nothing like that, no improper behavior or conversations have been conducted, we have just been investigating…”

“Each other?”

“Veronica! The case!”

“Fine, you do not have to tell us anything,” Kevin shot her a look and she kicked the air towards him without sparing him a glance. “But I meant what I said the other day, do not fall if there is no one to catch you.”

Betty sighed heavily. “I like him. How deeply or how seriously I cannot even say. And while I shall proceed with caution, I am not scared enough to discontinue our friendship,” she stated baldly and finally.

Sensing an end to this topic and knowing that he himself needed to begin preparations for the feast in the evening, Kevin reluctantly stood to bid the ladies farewell. He gave Betty a longer embrace than normal, as way of an apology for the tension that could have been built between them. Betty gave his chin a quick bump with her finger, acknowledging that she appreciated his honesty.

Beginning the journey back to his home, Kevin walked slowly through the halls, digesting the new information and filing it away into the appropriate places in his mind. He was still undecided regarding the Serpent Prince’s motives, but it was clear that Betty had developed a fondness for the beautiful scoundrel.

***

Young Keller had provided an interesting distraction, and a bevy of gossip to be digested, but Veronica found herself relieved to be left with only her new friend. There was consul in need of granting, and she was still wary of sharing with the gossipmonger. There was no other person in the River Kingdom, or possibly in the entirety of the world that Veronica would rather share her secrets with, but she was still wary of revealing such confidence.

“B?” Betty was brushing her long blonde hair in preparation for a rather ornate braid, but stilled her movements, sensing the concern in Veronica’s tone.

“What troubles you?”

“I know that your opinion of Archie is tainted for understandable reasons, but do you believe him to be a bad person?” Veronica could not quite meet her friend’s gaze afraid of her unchecked reaction. She is not sure when such a shift had occurred, but the good opinion of Betty Cooper had become an important indicator of truth to Veronica.

Betty’s eyes widened at the seriousness of the question but pivoted slightly in her response, “Why are you asking, V?”

“We met for the first time to discuss our secrets...truths...whichever you want to call them,” Betty nodded encouragingly at Veronica, who had finally ventured to meet her friend’s gaze. Betty remembered her mentioning this plan on the walk by the river, and needed no further elaboration, so Veronica continued. “He shared simple, but sweet facts about himself, whereas I told him several significant traits about myself in return, more serious in nature. I observed that they made him uncomfortable.”

Veronica lost herself in a train of thought as Betty softly asked what she revealed about herself to Archie. She repeated the speech to Betty, whose mouth fell into a perfect “O” shape as a response. “Oh Veronica…” she trailed off, uncertain of what she could say, instead opting to grab Veronica’s hand in comfort.

“I was concerned I had scared him, he does seem to be a boy of simplicity and comfort,” Veronica attempted a chuckle to lighten the mood, but it rang hollow. With her free hand, she opened the drawer of her vanity to pull out a missive, “But then I received this early this morning.”

Betty took the parchment slowly, and since Veronica refused to relinquish Betty’s hand, Betty clumsily unfolded the note and flattened it onto the table to read.

_Veronica–_

_I promise to appear as instructed in the sitting room tomorrow with three new secrets to tell, but I feared you may have believed I have not taken the task seriously given our first meeting. I wanted to remedy that situation and offer three more insights into my character:_

_First, I believe in second chances. A trait I am hoping you also possess at least in part, otherwise this note is most likely already a rumpled bit of rubbish on your floor. I believe that life is too nerve-inducing, too filled with pressure for a person to present the best version of themselves constantly. I want to give new acquaintances time to show me their best and am willing to experience some less than pleasant encounters until that happens. This is partially because of my own failings. I am not the best in social situations, so I hope that by gifting others with ample time to impress me they will return the favor._

_Second, every Sunday evening I take a white rose from the castle gardens and I float it down the river. Sweetwater River was my mother’s favorite place in the entirety of the kingdom, and white roses were her favorite flower. After she died I had a hard time going anywhere near it. Lady Elizabeth suggested that I start this tradition for her, and it helps me still feel close to her. Even in the winter, if possible, I still go visit her there._

_Third, even though I worry if I will be a good king, it is a title I look forward to having. When the knights and I go hunting I make it a habit to stop by different tradesmen and workers; all without my father’s knowing. I question what it would take to build more roads, reopen the schools, update the healing houses, particularly with the funds the kingdom possesses. The Allied kingdoms are known for their medicine and science, and I want my reign to be known for improving and growing those advancements. Although I would never tell my father, I am also hoping to put more funding into arts and tradecraft. It is a topic we should discuss together, but I have thought about how we can use your dowry to fund these projects. I hope that you will approve and agree. Honestly, I even look forward to arguing with you about them._

_I am anxious to see you this evening, you always awe with your beauty and grace._

_Yours,_

_Archibald_

Betty brushed the hand underneath her eyes as she single-handedly refolded the note and handed it back towards Veronica, whispering, “I did not know about the visits...the plans...I never asked…he never shared.”

Veronica replaced the letter in its hiding place and clutched Betty’s hand with additional force, “I am full of confusion, B. He has treated you unfairly, I know that. But all that I have discovered about him, I am beginning to –” Betty stopped her with a squeeze of her hand, Veronica looked into her friends’ eyes and was struck by the shadows of unshed tears, making the green in her eyes shimmer.

Veronica had entered this new home and was immediately placed into a mindset of contradictions. There were two people she was drawn to, and those two people were diametrically opposed. She had no idea how to remedy this confusing situation, and she was desperately clinging to one of those individuals to ease that dissonance.

“Before...before Chuck, Archie was my best friend. He was a patient, kind and loyal boy, it was easy to be his friend. I venture that I took that for granted as everything fell apart between us. My anger at Archie shielded me from the grieving the loss, or at the very least damage of our friendship. I forgot how good he is or can be.”

Betty made sure Veronica was staring her straight into her soul as she intoned, “No, Veronica, I do not think Archibald Andrews is a bad person,” Betty managed a faint smile as she answered her friend’s question. “I just have not learned how to forgive him.” Betty quickly turned away and Veronica could her the unspoken “yet” hang in the air between them.

Even without the promise of reconciliation between the two old friends, Veronica, felt reassured and released Betty from her grip. She silently motioned for Betty to turn around as Veronica took hold of her friend’s long golden hair and began to brush it through with her silver brush. It was beautiful, like liquid sunshine, and its glow did wonders to ease Veronica’s remaining nerves. After several minutes, it also restored her curiosity.

“Will you tell me about Chuck?” Betty abruptly stilled, and Veronica feared that she had ruptured the peaceful bubble that they had found themselves in, but instead Betty just turned to face Veronica, her face hazy with memory.

“I first met him when we were children, as son of nobility he went to school with me, Archie, Kevin, all the titled children. He was rather an awkward child, reminds me a little of the Serpent Prince in that way,” Bett’s reverie broke momentarily before she resumed her story, “But unlike Jughead’s quiet reserved awkwardness, his strangeness was louder. He was always speaking when he should not and could not get the girls to play with him no matter how he tried. I was not eager to entertain him either, but I found his earnestness and persistence endearing.”

Betty’s smiled shifted, “Less endearing was the lothario he became during his upper schooling. His father sent him to a privately funded institution in the northern part of the River Kingdom. It would take four days to reach him by horse, and yet the stories about his endless harem of women were endless. Every day Kevin came to the duchy to relate a new tale, each more lecherous than the last. I avoided him when he returned to his earldom, uneager to suffer his flirtations. The first time I saw him at a royal dinner I was stunned with how much he had changed.”

“Did he grow into a handsome flirt?” Veronica teased, and Betty batted lightly at her hand laughing gently.

“Handsome yes, oh so handsome. He had grown tall and broad, and, oh Veronica, the cut of his jaw and the crookedness of his smile, it made your body tumble...however he was still, at least in my estimation as much the awkward boy he was when he was sent away from our kingdom.”

She told Veronica the tale detailing how they fell in love. As she neared the end her story, Veronica could feel the unanswered question, the one that Betty was cautiously avoiding. But Veronica would not be distracted, she was discovering all the wonderful good about her future husband, she needed to know the worst.

“What did Archie do, Betty?”

The fond recollection Betty had been enjoying as she recounted her days with Chuck quickly faded and walls that Veronica had never seen before were quickly built around Betty, a development Veronica would not stand. She was familiar with the act of people hiding concerns from her, and she was equally adept and shattering those deceptions.

“No do not shut down B, you know that I need to know this.” She felt that starting with her own selfish desire would cater to Betty’s innate drive to assist others, but there was another equally as prescient reason, “You need to tell someone the truth, the anger is poisoning you, and I cannot have that.”

Veronica had meant every word, yes, she needed to know Archie’s betrayal so that she could exist with him. Her father always told her that the worst traits about people were the characteristics most worth knowing. While she disagreed with his reasoning, she understood that desire. Beyond this need was the desire to free Betty. This person was easily one of the kindest creatures that Veronica had ever encountered, and she cared for Veronica, almost immediately and without coercion. That was more than enough to know that Betty Cooper was a friend worth keeping.

Betty was silent, whether she was eternally debating, or waiting for the moment to pass, Veronica could not decipher. When Betty finally started speaking again her voice had lost some of its emotion, and she was detached, as if she were relating someone else’s story rather than her own.

“It happened a fortnight after he proposed. My parents were away for a dinner at the castle, and Chuck was visiting me in their absence. Archibald, after noticing I did not attend the dinner came to the estate to see after my health. He observed Chuck leaving in a state that could be viewed as improper. Two days later Chuck was banished from the kingdom for ‘improper conduct towards a lady.’” Betty’s speech was stilted and quick, and she rose abruptly after she finished speaking and rushed towards the window, her back towards Veronica.

 Veronica sat unmoving in her chair, afraid that a twitch of the hand or a sigh exhaled too loudly would inspire Betty’s flight from the room. Instead she let her mind do the racing. While Betty had chosen her words carefully, it was clear the improper conduct Archie assumed occurred was unwanted intimate contact. Equally as clear, based on Betty’s recollection of their relationship, was that any advances on Clayton’s part would have been entirely welcome, however outside the practicality of Betty. She would not dare voice it, but she could understand Archie’s perspective. Giving into the desires for her fiancé was so at odds with her careful personality. She would not ask for clarity though, Betty had already shared more than enough.

She stood quietly and padded softly over to Betty, making enough noise to announce her approach, but quiet enough to not disrupt the reverie. She was simply going grab Betty’s hand, but desiring more contact, wrapped her arms around Betty in a side embrace, resting her head on Betty’s shoulder as they shared the view of township below. Betty bent her elbows to rest her hands upon Veronica’s forearm, returning the embrace.

They stood like that for a while, trust and strength being built without conversation.

Their stillness was disrupted by a knock at the door, and a smirking Midge Klump sidled in quickly and shut the door behind her.

“Midge that look on your face is inspiring great unease,” Veronica chastened. If possible, Midge’s smile widened with her secret knowledge.

“Lady Elizabeth, Prince Forsythe is in the sitting room, and he is hoping to have a word with you,” Betty spun to Veronica her eyes widened in shock. She gripped her friend’s arm her knuckles turning white with the effort.

“I cannot greet him like this!” She gestured towards her tied dressing gown and unadorned hair.

“For why ever not? Your body is covered, and there are chaperones milling about. Also, I will be eavesdropping, so your privacy is merely an illusion.”

“I do not think I can go out there…” Betty turned to relay instructions of refusal to a disappointed Midge when Veronica acted swiftly and efficiently. Grabbing Midge by the arm she moved her abruptly to the left of the door, causing Midge to let out and unladylike grunt. Before Betty could catch wise to Veronica’s scheme, she grabbed Betty by the waist while simultaneously opening the door and catapulting her friend unceremoniously through its opening. She shut the door enough to give the illusion of its closure, but Jughead’s surprised, “Betty!” came through clear enough to know that she would remain privy to their conversation.

As Jughead and Betty began their greetings she chanced a glance to the scandalized looking Midge.

Rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to conversation whispering, “Every once in a while fate needs a not so gentle shove.”

***

“Betty!”

Whether as a symptom of Betty’s own clumsiness or Veronica’s rather uncalled for (at least to Betty) show of force, Betty lost her footing and tumbled directly into Jughead’s body, where he caught her by the waist and straightened her to face him.

“And here you had me believing that you were a graceful human,” Jughead chuckled slightly but did not release his grip on Betty’s waist, even though she had fully regained her balance.

“Yes, but I did not fly out here unassisted,” she flicked her eyes towards the bedchamber’s door to hint at their lack of complete privacy. Jughead picked up on her cue immediately, but rather than let that knowledge build a shared secret between them as Betty intended, he immediately withdrew into himself, removing his hands from Betty, suddenly embarrassed of his original purpose.

Betty was ashamed to admit she was thrilled to see him, and though they were not entirely alone she was not keen to waste any opportunity she had with him. “What may I help you with Prince Forsythe,” she grabbed his hand and made gentle circular movements on the pad of his hand that separated his thumb and forefinger. She eyed him silently and significantly hoping that she was communicating that they were solely being heard and not seen.

His immediate release of tension and silent stifled chuckle confirmed that she successful but not at all subtle in her communication. “I wanted to return your book to you, and thank you for the diversion,” his tone was light, almost business like, but his hand was operating on a different strategy. Betty thought she was still performing her ministrations to his left hand, but she was unable to construct any reasonable thought as Jughead took his right hand and ghosted his fingers across the length of her arm, all while he was speaking. As he finished his statement, he curled his fingers on the underside of her palm, causing her to reflexively curl her own hand, the pads of their fingertips meeting briefly.

Betty must have looked sufficiently dazed since an overconfident smirk overtook Jughead’s face. She released his hand as punishment, but he did not notice as he went over to the small satchel he had brought with him. Betty’s face contorted in confusion as he withdrew not one, but two books from its depths. Sparing a glance towards the ajar door, Jughead chose his words delicately, “I wanted to return the favor and provide a novel on my own, I only brought the one, so I apologize for lack of variety,” he handed her both the books, not letting go immediately so he could extend their contact. Betty eyed the novel of his that he gave her, noting its worn corners and folded pages marking favorite passages. It was not as well cared for as the original novels of her parents’ library, but it was clearly loved. She took both to her chest in an embrace and mouthed a “thank you” afraid her voice would betray her true emotion to their unseen audience.

Jughead leaned close his lips not quite brushing her ear, but close enough that she could feel his presence and he whispered a simple “You are most welcome, Betts.”

It was a simple statement, but the closeness of his lips, and the low catch to his voice inspired wild happenings in her mind and body. Their previous interactions were filled with flint and spark, but this inspired a very different heat of a dangerous kind. She swallowed slowly, and only when she had regained complete composure of her voice did she adopt Lady Elizabeth’s kind polite tone, “Why thank you, your highness, if you would be so kind as to tarry a moment.” Betty was walking slowly backwards, as Jughead raked his eyes across her body, reaching her eyes he mouthed a “Hurry” which inspired a small giggle in Betty.

Betty whirled around as she entered the bedchamber, almost barreling into both Veronica and Midge who were stationed by the door, eyeing her with looks of amused suspicion.

“You are being awfully polite, _Lady Elizabeth_ ,” Veronica whispered following her friend as she bent over the satchel that Elizabeth had brought with her this morning. She placed the books that Jughead had given her deep into its depths and took out another she had been carrying around with her in hopes of this very occasion. She silently hoped Veronica could not sense her desperation.

Veronica paced behind her spouting encouragements to be a little more forthright with that handsome boy, and though Betty was amused, the tidings Kevin had brought them this morning had her slightly shaken. She did not want to be observed.

It was this resolution that had her shutting the door completely behind her as she re-entered the sitting room. Giving them leniency to whisper without being overheard. Jughead immediately took the hint and quietly lamented, “Do you really have to reside here the entirety of the day, I heard the apple orchards are ready for their first harvest…” Betty could not help but smile that he had put thought into activities they could do together, places they could go together. She tried to hide her pleasure at that realization with a slight diversion.

“We will have the entirety of the feast together…”

Jughead shook his head interrupting her, struggling to keep his voice at a low volume, “There is a measure of decorum and spectacle to the whole affair, and I have to attempt some social graces with others in attendance.”

Betty smiled, “An effort I am sure will require your entire concentration,” she said it teasingly, but the veracity of the statement caused a look of distress to bloom across his beautiful features. Feeling guilty for causing him distress she countered, “Tomorrow we will go to the orchards, no one else will be present on the Sabbath.”

Jughead opened his mouth to speak, but movement from behind Betty caught his attention. Shaking his head, he pointed to the door of the bedchamber, which had quietly opened to increase the hearing range of the spies behind it. He mouthed “menace” at Betty before starting a formal farewell speech.

“Thank you for the book, Lady Elizabeth, it will aid in passing the time until the feast.” At least that is the speech Betty believed he voiced. But her mind was distracted by his slender fingers caressing the sides of her face. Seeing the bold smirk rise on Jughead’s features she exerted her own power by placing her hands on his chest and slowly dragging them upwards, delighted at the increased speed of his breathing.

“Until this evening your highness,” He looked at her with unreadable eyes not making a movement to leave, until a thud from behind the chamber door broke the spell, and he stepped away from their embrace. Betty bit her lip as she watched him slowly leave. Reaching the door, a mischievous glint flashed in his eye and he voiced loud enough for all listening parties to hear, “And thank you for the lilies, Lady Elizabeth.”

Her mouth dropped as he exited the room, with only a faint chuckle as his final retort. That charming traitor.  Betty stood for a bit in the sitting room, not thrilled to return to Veronica when she heard her friend’s voice calling her, “You may delay all you wish Elizabeth, but that is the first topic of discussion once your cowardice dissipates and you return!”

Betty winced but slowly made her way back into the chamber. Veronica sat at her vanity, and had crossed her legs, placing her hands delicately on her knees, giving the illusion that she had been seated as such for a significant amount of time. She was fooling no one. Before she could shut the door, Veronica quickly ordered Midge on a mission to the kitchens. The small girl cast them a rueful glance as she exited, upset she would not be able to hear the upcoming conversation. Betty took her seat beside Veronica, busying herself by prepping ribbons for her braid.

“Lilies?” Veronica’s eyebrow arched but the rest of her face betrayed no emotion.

“I had a bouquet sent to his room.” Betty could elaborate with an excuse, or the very legitimate story that went along with the flowers, but that lead to stories and questions she did not wish to share with her overly curious friend.

“What a normal gesture,” Veronica returned, still expressionless, but her voice was weighted with sarcasm. Sensing that Betty was not going to share voluntarily Veronica continued, “For such a polite conversation B, your cheeks are rather flushed.”

The flush deepened in color on Betty’s cheeks, but she remained silent, instead deftly and quickly plaiting her hair.  

The holding steadiness of Betty’s silence snapped both Veronica’s expression and patience, “What just happened out there? Did he kiss your hand again? Did he kiss somewhere else?”

“Veronica!”

“I will keep guessing until you share. Do not test me, Elizabeth.” Betty released a suffered sigh and faced Veronica with pleading eyes.

“Those pitiful eyes are in vain, now start talking.”

Betty bit her lip as she measured what she was willing to share, “Just fleeting touches.”

“And were these clandestine touches returned?” Betty’s bitten lip and avoidance of Veronica’s gaze were all the confirmation she required.

“B! Will you not heed our young gossip’s warnings? Or mine?” Betty rolled her eyes at Veronica’s dramatics as she finished tying her hair. Although it was perfectly done, she thought of untangling and restarting, just for the continued distraction from her irritated companion. She was prevented from taking that course of action by Veronica’s hands grasping her own and holding them hostage in a firm but not painful grip.

“Think reasonably Betty. There are two paths for this flirtation. Which do you think is the more likely?”

Betty took a moment to consider Veronica’s question. Just days ago, Betty had recognized the path of heartbreak and his exit from her life and the kingdom as an inevitably. His extended stay offered them a reprieve, but to what end?

She knew to what end Veronica was implying but it had seemed too serious to consider.

While she may be foolish enough to open her heart to relationship with an unspecified but unavoidable date of expiration, she had not for one moment entertained the unlikely possibility of marriage to a man she had known for the span of a week.

“I am hoping for an extended friendship. Jughead claims to be an accomplished letter writer, I look forward to testing that theory,” Veronica’s sighed in frustration, but it was the look of concern that motivated Betty to become more serious.

“V, I thank you for your concern, I am lucky that Fred arranged such a magnificent creature to come into our lives,” Veronica softened slightly at the flattery, but concern still worried at her features. “I understand that continuing in such a flirtatious manner is a dangerous exercise, and that my heart could be inflicted with damage not easily repaired. It is with full understanding of these dangers that I have opted to continue. I have measured the risks, and have deemed them worth taking, as the regret I would feel outweighs that future concern.”

Veronica did not appear entirely convinced, but perceived Betty would entertain nothing more on the matter. She would however have the last word, “Understood. But Betty, given his reputation…” Betty opened her mouth to speak but Veronica stopped her with a wave of her hand and in increase in the volume of her voice, “Given his reputation, perhaps you should have a conversation with the Prince. You are clear on your own motivations, but my dear have you given any thought to his?”

The question did not require an answer, but as Veronica moved to her wardrobe, Betty’s mind scrambled for an answer. Jughead was reciprocating the flirtation, but his reasons and motivations were unknown to her. She was beginning to understand why the castle township had come to the conclusions that they did. It seemed to be the most obvious answer. An answer Betty felt in her bones to be untrue.

Veronica dropped two gowns onto the bed, thankfully disrupting these thoughts and changing the subject to a heated debate as to which gown was more appropriate for the evening’s festivities. Betty preferred the beautiful navy gown that was clearly perfectly tailored to Veronica’s slight figure, while Veronica was partial to the black garment with diamonds adorning the bodice. Betty eventually won with the argument that Veronica had already worn black to her debut, and diversity was required.

Veronica then turned her fight towards Betty’s own fashion choice, convincing Betty to wear a deep emerald gown instead of the drab grey dress Betty had originally intended. As the friends argued and eventually relented to the other’s dress choice, laughing and discussing all the guests expected for the night, Betty lost all thoughts as to what Jughead’s purpose was in pursuing their friendship.

As the two women, beautifully dressed and perfectly coiffed headed down to the feast, all unease had vanished from Betty’s mind, and instead her eagerness and desire to see her Serpent prince had returned with great and renewed strength.

***

Jughead Jones had abandoned Archibald Andrews at his greatest time of need.

The two men, as future kings of Allied Kingdoms, were well versed and trained in polite social conversations, but both viewed the practice as an unpleasant battle.

Typically, the friends would face the oncoming combatants together, but Jughead had still not arrived to greet the visiting courtiers leaving Archie to fend of the subtle insults and compliments alone. Mercifully, only five of the thirteen gentlemen originally invited to the Feast of Promise were able attend due to yet another vicious storm that had fallen upon the River Kingdom. It was required to invite all single members of the nobility to the feast, but Archibald’s patience for courtiers was limited, and was grateful for their decreased number. They were not due to join the ladies in the dining hall for another half hour, but already Archie’s wits had already been well tested.

Kevin Keller, though not nobility was granted an invitation due to his inheritance of the office of Constable, an office that would suit the boy who knew everything. He was the first man to enter their sitting room, and he looked rather annoyed to be greeted by only the prince. Apparently, Archie was not a useful source of information for him.

“Good evening your highness, I thought perhaps our visiting prince would have accompanied you down to the feast.” Kevin was dressed in a fine burgundy coat, it would easily be the finest of the evening contradicting Kevin’s status as the lowest ranked.

“Good evening Sir Keller, I cannot say that I have seen Jughead this day.” He attempted to keep his tone light, for he had tried to pay a visit to Jughead’s chambers, but he had been refused, and the sting of rejection still weighed heavily on Archie’s mood.

“I thought perhaps since your future wife and Lady Elizabeth were spending the day together that perhaps you and Jughead would do the same. A sparring match perhaps?” He raised his eyebrows curiously, and Archibald not understanding the young man’s meaning stood in silent confusion. Kevin peered at him waiting for some sort of intelligent response that Archibald was unable to provide.

As if on cue, Jughead entered the chamber, enshrouded in his finest garb. It was still entirely black but looked far less used. Jughead acknowledged them both with quick nods but moved quickly moved to the table which housed the drink and poured himself an ale.

As the next two guests arrived, Kevin immediately grasped the opportunity to move on to a new possible source of information and allowed the Prince to greet the Marquis and the Baron.

The Marquis, Dougray Sonnegaard, an older widower, had only appeared once news of Geraldine Grundy’s presence was made known to him. Archie did not know the gentleman well, as he was a reserved a stoic type, but he appreciated the ever-present kindness of the man. He greeted him shortly and then moved off to stand by himself, immediately more at ease in his solitude. The other man that had arrived with him was also looking to spend some conversation with a specific female guest. His target was younger, and would no doubt be sporting a long blonde golden plait.

Baron Adam Chisholm’s estate was almost a full day’s ride from the castle, but he had braved the storm to be in attendance. Archie knew Adam well, they were of similar age and had attended school together, along with many of their other guests. Right after the incident which relieved Betty of her own intended, Adam had been housed at the Cooper duchy for almost a month, negotiating joint trading agreement with the Duke. While there, he took a keen interest in the second daughter of the household and was intending on extending his stay at the duchy for another month. After Archie hinted that perhaps his estate was not in need of the additional financial support they requested, if Adam felt comfortable staying away from home for another month. Adam had then immediately returned home and remained unwed.

Adam’s hard features indicated he had not forgotten that incident.

“Evening your highness, and may I congratulate you on your impending marriage.” He shook his hand, but no friendly countenance greeted Archibald.

“Good evening, Baron Chisholm, I appreciate you venturing out in the storm, I hope you and your sister intend to stay in the one of the castle’s guest quarters this evening.” The Baron had arrived with the eldest of his four sisters, who aged fifteen and was eager to be invited to such a feast of status.

“The promise of good company was too difficult a promise to waste.” Adam smiled, but was missing the friendliness that was he typically wore with such ease. “We intend to stay through the morrow, gives me time to catch up with old friends. I understand that Lady Elizabeth is staying at the castle while her duchy is being renovated.”

Archie’s teeth clenched but he amiably replied, “She is indeed, I am sure she will be pleased to be see an old friend.” Adam’s face reacted with surprise, but it was a fleeting expression, and he quickly relieved himself of the conversation to obtain a drink.

His final guest arrived in the boisterous from of Baron Reginald Mantle. He and Reggie were good friends, and their greeting reflected as such, but Reggie was keen to begin his drinking and left Archie alone to survey his guests.

His eyes fell to Lord Chisholm and Jughead who were engaged in polite, but most likely empty conversation. Adam’s statements made it clear that he was intent on reignited his acquaintance with Betty, with romantic intent clearly in play.

Archie knew Betty would be wed one day, and given her beauty, kindness and wealth, it was bound to be sooner rather than later. It was a topic he revisited daily, each day lessened the acute pain he felt, but he feared it was a pain that would never dull completely. Adam Chisholm would be a winning match for Betty. He was kind, and though only a Baron, it was likely he would inherit his nearby estate, elevating him, rightfully to a Viscount. Thinking of a marriage between the two of them was deeply unpleasant, but Archie could tolerate such a development.

An epiphany struck Archie as he stared at the two men. He could one day, appreciate the marriage between his first and possibly greatest love and this worthy acquaintance. He would never, however, acclimate to a marriage between that same lady and his best friend.

Part of this disapproval was the status that it would give the woman who rejected him. If she married a lower station, there was always a taste of vanity he could indulge, knowing that she refused him, and for that was demoted in noble status. Jughead was a prince, same as Archibald, and it would only increase Betty’s rank and importance, as well as her family’s already impeccable pedigree.

But the greatest reason for his unease was that a marriage between Jughead and Betty would be a constant reminder of what he had lost. He would interact more with an Allied King and Queen more than he would the wife of a Viscount, and his jealously and covetous thoughts towards the man who had won her would never cease. He could not bear having his best friend be the recipient of such vile feelings.

Archie knew however that his fears were not unfounded. There was some deeper connection being built between Jughead and Betty, and Archie could not help but feel dread when faced with evidence of such a connection. Jughead had never defended a woman, nor sought out her company so strongly as he had with Betty. As for Betty, he had never seen her look at someone with so much trust and openness.

Not even her former fiancé.

This line of thinking made this throat burn and stomach churn with dread and spurned his feet forward to disrupt the conversation between the two possible suitors for Betty’s hand. Both men looked up in surprise at his intrusion.

“Apologies for the disruption gentlemen, but I was hoping to have a brief word with the Prince.” Jughead’s face hardened, and Adam glanced curiously between the two men, but hastily excused himself.

“Arch, I apologize for turning you away earlier, but I was about to leave to run through a status check with my knights.” Archie did not perceive a lie in his tone, was inclined to believe him and respond with an amend of his own.

“I myself must apologize for losing my temper with you yesterday, I said things I should not have, and we parted in anger, I am sorry.”

Jughead lost some of the tension in his shoulders but his expression remained hard, “I am not the person who requires an apology from you.”

“You are correct,” Archie hastily agreed, “and I have full intent to give one to her at the earliest opportunity.”

Jughead crossed his arms over his chest but gave a short nod as acknowledgement.

Archie glanced behind and observing that all the other guests were otherwise occupied in other conversations, subtly moved Jughead further from the other men, and lowered his voice to avoid others hearing the next part of their conversation.

“You are my best friend, Jug,” Archie sighed in confession.

Jughead’s expression finally softened and he uncrossed his arms, “Arch, of course you are my best friend. I just need time to cool my temper.”

“I understand that Jug, but as my best friend I need to ask you something,” he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Jug I do not know what the nature of your relationship is with Betty, though I suspect that it is increasing in intimacy. She was my first love Jug, and you know I desire nothing more than for you to abandon your intention to marry politically and find a woman you can truly love and build a family. But I am asking you Jug, please do not let that woman be Betty.” Jughead’s breath had quickened and his arms returned to their crossed position, but he did not, or could not respond.

Needing verbal confirmation, Archie reaffirmed, “Promise me, Jug. Please.”

Archie did not know how much time had passed, or what the nature of the conversations were behind him, all he could hear were the next words that Jughead whispered.

“I cannot make that promise, Archie.” He said it like an oath and an apology.

The men were only given several more seconds of peace before their serious conversation was interrupted by a decidedly less serious Reggie Mantle, who barreled over to Archie, handing him a goblet of wine that he clearly had already been sampling.

“Archie! Come! Tell us about the future Andrews Queen. You are lucky she is as beautiful as she is. King Brosseau’s arranged wife has all the appeal of the ice field that they live upon.” Archie gifted Reggie with a mild reproving look but seeing that Reggie’s outburst had captured the rest of the men’s attention he took the opportunity to defend his fiancée.

“She is as kind as she is beautiful,” Archie diplomatically but truthfully stated, earning smile smalls from Adam and the Marquis, and an overly exaggerated groan from the mildly sauced Baron.

“Spare us the politics Andrews, the union between you two is an assured certainty, why have you not sampled your marital privileges?” Reggie threw his arm around his friend, which Archibald quickly shrugged off in disgust, “Reginald remember you are speaking of your future queen,” Archie’s voice remained calm, but his warning was clear.

Reggie waved his hands in front of his face in surrender, but his carefree demeanor remained unharmed. The six men now formed a rough circle, all watching the tall dark-haired Baron who was pleased to have everyone’s attention. “While there are many benefits, financial or otherwise, to the union I myself am pleased that the warden of the best prize of the River Kingdom will finally be permanently relieved of his guard.”

Archie cocked his head to the side; entirely uncertain what Reggie was flapping off about. He peered at his companions who were all warily fixed on him, save for Jughead, whose eyes were focused unflinchingly on Reggie.

Reggie too was staring at Archie expectantly, and when he received no response let out a humourless chuckle before continuing, “I speak of the beautiful Lady Elizabeth Cooper, of course, per chance you will finally allow someone to marry her without running them out of the kingdom first.”

Archie almost flinched at the barb from his friend. He had just enough self-awareness to know that he had always been protective of Elizabeth, his prior conversation with Jughead was evidence that it still was a driving force, but he was unaware of the bitterness it inspired in those around him. A month before Charles Clayton walked into the Cooper library, Reggie had declared that Betty Cooper was destined to be his wife. He was the most good-looking man in the entirety of the River Kingdom, and as Betty was easily the most beautiful, their marriage was logical. As a response, Archie recruited Reggie for a special diplomatic journey in the northern Ice Kingdom. He still maintained no regrets for that.

Reggie, however, kept a grudge it seemed.

“Lady Elizabeth is free to marry whom she wishes.” Even to Archie it sounded empty, contradicted by years of his behavior and his plea to Jughead. He could have sworn he heard a soft scoff from his direction.

“Of course, since Elizabeth is no one’s property,” all eyes snapped to the dark-haired prince who had been brooding in the corner silently. He met Archie’s gaze with a slight challenge, and mild chastisement.

Reggie missing the point entirely snorted and slurred towards Jughead, “Well of course not, she’s not married yet.” Jughead gave an exaggerated eye roll towards Reggie but deemed him not worthy of any further effort. Reggie took another swig from his goblet, finally emptying the vessel before continuing his uncomfortable speech.

“May that be for the best really. Clayton was a man of great talent before Lady Elizabeth broke him into a boy of domesticity,” Reggie paused, casting a cruel glance to Archie as he continued, “Then again, if I were permitted to _enjoy_ Lady Elizabeth Cooper I would happily concede to being tamed.”

Jughead already tight as a cat waiting to pounce made a sharp movement forward, but was stopped discreetly by Kevin, the action going unnoticed by everyone but Archie, as the Marquis interjected, “That is enough Lord Mantle, your drink has loosened your tongue too recklessly. You speak without discretion or courtesy towards the young lady who outranks you both in title and class. Quite enough.” Dougray Sonnegaard rarely gave such a speech, and the rarity of it shocked the assembled party to silence. Even Reggie seemed chastened by the older man who far outranked him. Instead, he refilled his goblet and attempted to engage in quiet conversation with an unwilling Lord Chisholm. Affected by the episode that had just transpired, Archie stood apart from the rest of the group silently observing.

The Marquis had not moved from his spot by the door, still waiting to catch a glimpse of Geraldine Grundy. Kevin and Jughead were now engaged in conversation, though Jughead had not taken his eyes from Reggie, who was still carrying on a one-sided conversation with the other Baron.

Archie did not think he was one for gossip, but the deep uneasy feeling rooted in the pit of his stomach began to grow acknowledging his role in the rumour mill. His friend’s reputation had been damaged by, and apparently was still being damaged by a rumour that Archie himself was the cause of. To his detriment he never gave the incident and the subsequent accusations regarding Betty and Clayton much consideration after they had transpired. Chuck was not good enough to become Betty’s husband. He acted in a way that proved that. Chuck was removed from the River Kingdom and was no longer going to be Betty’s husband.

To Archie, it was simple and easy.

Save for that it was not. No one would dare speak ill of a future king, nor would they seek to gossip with him, and thus he remained unaware of the strife he had caused his dear friend.

It was no longer any wonder why she regarded him with such spite. A spite he felt would increase if she ever knew of his plea to Jughead.

At this moment of self-realization and guilt, the steward made his ill-timed entrance, an intrusion that would have been welcome only several minutes ago. But now it was laced with uneasy anticipation.

“Gentlemen. The ladies await you in the dining hall.”

***

In theory, the Feast of Promise should be something Jughead should enjoy deeply. The entire occasion was precipitated by the presence of food, and at a “feast” volume besides.

All courses had met his expectations and he grudgingly had to compliment the hostess for her exquisite palate. Endearing her even more to his good graces, she spaced the courses at a brusque pace, leaving little time for chit chat or a rehashing of the disaster that was their social drink prior to the meal. Jughead was still having difficulty sorting through his feelings from his exchange with Archie, but a social feast was no time for such contemplation.

He was living up to Betty’s fear slightly of his being a silent dinner companion, but whenever he could speak his attention was solely on her. The speed with which he finished his courses also precipitated a low chuckle from Betty, increasing his delight. The wonderful creature even shared the food she could not finish with him. Bless her.

There were five courses, each carefully crafted and prepared by the River Kingdom’s chef, Valerie Brown. Jughead had made it a point to discover her name for he was determined to steal her away for employment and his own castle. The first course had been poached figs accompanied by some sort of jam that was both salty and sweet, and Betty had to discreetly tug his plate away before he licked the remaining morsels from the surface. Their second course, and the precursor to the entree, was a smooth squash soup, perfectly spiced. Jughead had to refrain from asking the soup to be his beverage for the rest of the night. The main course was lamb chops and root vegetables, Archie’s favorite. Though his anger at his friend was still simmering (stoked by the interlude with Reggie) he chanced Archie a look, one that the red head sheepishly returned.

The final two courses were both sweet, but delicately constructed. The main dessert was a honey lemon tart, though where Valerie managed to discover lemons in October was beyond even Jughead’s deduction skills. Once the dessert had been cleared, two servants brought out a tray of strawberries coated in chocolate, and a case of champagne, which Jughead found suspicious. Champagne was only produced in one region of the world, making it terribly expensive, and their last season’s crop had been destroyed. He may have been underestimating Veronica’s wealth if she were able to uncover a supply for them to enjoy.

Thus, their party had reached the point in the evening where the feast lost its promise, and his gratitude towards Veronica ceased immediately. After toasting the brunette host stood, surveying her assembled guests and spoke like the queen she was destined to be.

“Good evening all, and thank you for traveling in this unfortunate weather,” as if Veronica could command it, a rumble of thunder echoed through the hall. “I hope you have enjoyed the dinner, and I must apologize for pacing, but I wanted to leave time for conversation and an evening of entertainment. When I was first told of the wonderful tradition of the Feast of Promise, I was concerned of the abruptness and starkness of the event. We should not merely meet for good food, perfunctory wishes, and quick dismissals to waiting bedchambers. Marriage is meant to be a celebration, and that celebration starts this evening. I have arranged for a harpist to entertain for an hour before we embark on the sharing of wishes. Take this time to converse with your companions and enjoy this good company we have assembled. After the sharing of wishes, I hope that those willing to tarry for a while enjoy some friendly competition with card play,” an excited tittering from her guests caused a look of satisfaction to cross Veronica’s face, as she gestured to the doorway where the harpist Jughead had seen in the hall two days prior entered the dining room. “Enjoy!”

As soon as the words left Veronica’s mouth the harpist began to play beautiful, heavenly music that Jughead found at odds with his current hellish state.

While twenty guests were initially anticipated to be in attendance, only ten had managed to brave the elements to sit at Veronica’s new commissioned and highly suspicious perfectly sized round table. Jughead would not have been surprised to discover that Veronica had hid the other ten guests away somewhere, just so the ten guests present would fit comfortably around the table. All table settings radiated from Veronica and Archie’s placement at the assumed head of table. Countess Geraldine Grundy was seated between Archie and the Marquis, whose attendance had not been initially anticipated by Veronica. He was doing his best to keep gentle conversation with the Countess who was much more engrossed, and rather mannerless, in her clear flirtation with Archibald who sat uncomfortably beside her.

Jughead felt for the Marquis, in his brief acquaintance with him, he seemed a good, decent man who deserved much better than the flighty countess beside him. His irritation with the Marquis was solely due to his presence. His unexpected arrival precipitated a changing in the seating arrangement that placed Baron Reginald Mantle on the opposite side of Betty, who was less than pleased with change. Baron Adam Chisholm was seated next to the other Baron, trying in vain to engage in conversation with Betty across the loud man. Rounding out their party was Kevin Keller and Rebecca Chisholm, Adam’s younger sister, who were engaged in animated conversation that most likely pertained to the misfortunes or secrets of others.

Jughead of course, only wished to speak with Betty, but fate was not on his side this evening. As soon as she was seated, Veronica made it clear that Jughead was her target for conversation, and she would not be dissuaded. Betty, who clearly wished for them to be amicable with each other, martyred herself to conversation with Reginald and Adam, both of whom were eager to have her attention.

“So Jughead I must ask, where does such a nickname come from?” Veronica asked her questions warmly and conversationally, but Jughead was in no mood to entertain.

“I was given a poor haircut as a child and it caused my head to appear abnormally large. Archie created the moniker, and I liked it better than Forsythe, so it stayed,” he responded with a heavy sigh. “Care to ask me a question that has not be asked countless times before?” Jughead intellectually knew that Veronica had done nothing to deserve this flippant tone, but perhaps the quicker he annoyed Veronica, the sooner he could return to conversation with Betty.

Veronica was not fooled. Something flickered behind her polite mask and the intensity of it caused a jolt of panic to run through Jughead’s heart. A sickly-sweet smile spread across Veronica’s face as she clasped her hands in front of her. Her gaze turned hypnotic, and Jughead was not sure he could physically move even if he wished to.

“Do you believe in fate, Jughead?”

Original question indeed, one that Jughead struggled to conjure a response to, but Veronica apparently did not require one.

“I do, always have. Such superstitions are common in the Western Kingdoms as I am sure you know. While I may have needed time to become accustomed to this new land, I was convinced that this is where I was meant to be. I felt sure of it once I met Betty.”

Jughead could feel his palms start to sweat. He was not enjoying the trajectory of this conversation.

“While it is yet to be discovered if Archibald will manifest himself into my soulmate, I know with certainty that Betty is such a soulmate. One I will not hesitate to protect.” She said this low and slow so that no others could hear but kept her face as light and pleasant as the music that surrounded them.

“Miss Lodge I assure you no one in this conversation has aims of injuring Lady Elizabeth.”

“Did you have similar intentions regarding Deirdre Flores?”

Well that was a name Jughead had not heard spoken in a spell, nor had he given her much thought since he had last seen her. He remembered she was pretty, they flirted, and that he left her township where he was stationed after only a week.

“I had no intentions regarding Deirdre, we were friendly, no impropriety occurred, and our acquaintance terminated.”

Veronica rolled her eyes in frustration, “You broke her heart Jughead Jones.”

“I knew her for the span of a week!” Jughead spoke too loudly a causing curious glances to flash towards them briefly. Once they returned to their own conversation he continued at a more private volume, “I never made any promises to her.”

Veronica softened only momentarily, and Jughead thought perhaps he had gotten through to the woman when she asked, “And have you made any intentions to Betty?”

All conversations were suddenly disrupted by a loud laugh and an interjection of “Come on Cooper!” from Lord Mantle.

Sensing that he had the entire group’s attention, Reginald broadened his posture to include everyone in his conversation.

“Serendipitous timing everyone,” he voiced as if it was not his own disruption that gained the table’s attention, “I was just telling Betty that given the family scandal she should marry sooner rather than later. Years will tarnish the Cooper name.”

“I disagreed with the notion, of course,” Adam spoke half-heartedly from his seat, wanting to stay in Betty’s good graces but not wanting to take direct issue with the Baron.

“Let us question it, briefly, particularly to the men at the table. Lady Elizabeth is beautiful, rich and from a well-positioned family, but is enshrouded in scandal. Is it not for the best to marry soon, rather than let the rumours become more harmful than they already are?”

Reggie looked towards Betty in what Jughead was certain he thought was a winning and flirtatious manner.

Silence fell around the table and Jughead looked towards Archie, who met his gaze with pleading eyes. He knew his defense of Betty would make matters worse, and Jughead agreed that he was right, but that is not what spurred him into action.

It was the look in Betty’s face. She was staring at the table, waiting for the conversation to pass, but she did not have that look of defiance Jughead was so fond of, nor was she wearing the annoyance he was getting used to. Instead she looked defeated. Like she believed what Reggie was saying, and that was an injustice Jughead would not stand for. Before he could stop himself, an embarrassing amount of truth spilled from his lips, but all of it was aired with extreme calm and assuredness.

“All of what you say is true, and surely that outweighs any scandal.” Reggie opened his mouth to speak, but Jughead continued, as if he were speaking the most obvious facts. In a way he was. “All of you are from the River Kingdom and can just see the scandal. But these things lessen with time, not strengthen. In fact, Betty would be wise to marry outside the River Kingdom, to avoid such stigma altogether.”

Reginald shook his head, “Foreign marriages always have specific purpose,” he gestured mildly to Archie and Veronica sitting unamused several seats down from him.

“At a certain level of nobility, a marriage should bring wealth and political advantage, and a foreign marriage is the most logical way to achieve both,” as he took one more sip of wine, Jughead was emboldened to add one last statement, one he previously would have checked.

“It is what I plan to do.”

The music stopped, and Veronica broke the shocked silence by starting a round of applause for the young harpist. Stewards entered the room quickly to bring more cheese and bread, as well as refill the goblet and wine urns, the unpleasant conversation quickly forgotten as they prepared for the sharing of wishes. Archie stood alongside Veronica and began going through the tradition. Each guest in attendance shares a wish for their couple, one member of the couple reciprocates, and the guest gives one more wish to the guest of their choosing. Luckily for Jughead he had already known the logistics of this custom because at that moment he could not organize his mind to create a coherent thought.

Betty Cooper was holding his hand. She had taken it after Jughead’s verbal dressing down of the arrogant baron, and she made no motion of releasing him.

By the time Jughead could listen and comprehend what was being said, he was grateful to ascertain that Kevin, the Chisholm girl, her brother and Reggie had all completed this polite ritual. Betty’s turn was upon them all and she contemplated the couple of honor, her new friend and the boy who has caused her so much pain. With nothing but openness she gave them her wish, “For the couple I wish for you to forgive each other’s flaws and to respect and admire each other’s strengths.”

Archie looked as if he could not form a thought after that declaration, but Veronica easily shared the wish that Betty would be back home before the calendar years changed. It was an easy and simple wish so Jughead could not understand the cryptic challenge that passed between the two women’s glances. Betty however easily transitioned to her wish for a guest, given surprisingly but charmingly to Rebecca Chisholm. Betty wished for her last mandatory school year to be full of promise and maybe love, earning a blush from Rebecca and a quick scowl from Adam.

The Marquis imparted his wish to the couple which was as distinguished and as straightforward as the man himself. He surprised the entire table when he declared his guest’s wish belonged to Jughead. Jughead had not been given a wish by any of the other guests, nor did he anticipate being the recipient of one.

“To Prince Forsythe I wish for you clarity to distinguish what you want and the courage to pursue it.”

Apparently, perceptiveness was a trait that should be added to the Marquis’ prominent qualities. His hand reflexively gripped Betty’s a little tighter and she gave a pulse of encouragement in return. As the Countess completed the task, Jughead took steadying breaths as he prepared for his own time to address the table. Public oratory was never Jughead’s comfort, but as a future king, he was well versed in skill.

“To Veronica and Archibald,” Jughead began, not quite able to meet either of their gazes, “I wish for you understanding and respect. The bedrock on which all stable marriages are founded.”

Archie opened his mouth to give a wish in return, a wish that caused a pit of unease in Jughead’s stomach when Veronica intervened. “My wish for you Prince Forsythe, is that you keep your promises.” The unease he had hoped to avoid by Veronica’s intervention took root deep in his stomach, causing him to pause before he spoke his own wish to a guest.

“To Baron Reginald Mantle,” Betty’s hand pulsed in warning, “I sincerely hope that you find that foreign wife.” The table erupted in chuckles erasing the residual tension from some of the more serious wishes. The Countess, Marquis, and Chisholms all begged to be relieved to their guest chambers for the evening, not wanting to take part in competition, however friendly. After farewells had been exchanged, another table was procured, this one again eerily fitting for the number of people that remained. They played a half dozen round of cards, all hotly contested, and only one of which Jughead was the victor. His reward had been Betty interlocking her fingers with his own, so to him, it was the only reward worth receiving.

In his two and twenty years on the earth, Jughead had attended over one hundred formal gatherings, each of which presented its own brand of unease. But, this evening, for the first time, all the decorum and speeches did not irritate Jughead. Not the awkward sharing of wishes, not the overly competitive card game. None of these things that would have previously inspired dread and anxiety in Jughead caused him any harm or undue stress.

All because Betty Cooper had taken his hand and did not let go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOUSEKEEPING! Hey everyone sorry this chapter was a monster, I think the next one will be around 5-7k, which theoretically means it will be out faster. So a few things, 1) there is a continuity error in this story. If you havent noticed it I am not going to tell you since 2) I will be doing a giant proof of the first half (16 chaps) of this fic during my hiatus at Christmas (but if you have noticed I am sorry). 3) I am bad at tumbling, but I am going to try and post chaps and sneak peeks @kesleyjo on tumblr if you are interested in that.
> 
> Recs by Kez/Bts fun  
> 1) I wrote outtakes of all the wishes we did not get to hear, if you are interested in that I will post them on tumblr!  
> 2) Reggie is apparently Gaston in my fic. Rewatched that song from the animated movie and can confirm that I wrote him like Gaston. I feel like it tracks.  
> 3) I am lean on recs at the moment...I may edit when I am more awake (This train wreck is running on 5 hours of sleep over the last two days). 
> 
> As always I love you amazing people, and thank you, thank you, THANK you for reading


	8. The Rider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone reading this for two things: your patience and your support. I don't have the proper words to relay just how much each view, kudos and comment mean to me. So just thank you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

October had held onto the warmer weather as long as it dared, but autumn was now fully upon the River Kingdom, coloring the leaves with rich oranges, reds and yellows. Because of the late turn in the weather, the leaves were holding their ground on the branches of the trees and only now had they started to abandon their homes.

One such leaf was now ensconced almost perfectly behind a peak in a silver crown, nested in an unkempt black curl that Betty watched hypnotically, its red and yellow surface disappearing behind the peak in the wind.

Jughead, owner of said curl, crown, and now leaf, sat next to Betty in companionable silence on the river’s edge. After their pleasurable visit to the orchards yesterday, they had vowed to spend the next morning overviewing the case and finalizing the approach for their interrogation of the Riders the following day. That task was completed in record time, and rather than part, they decided to amble to the riverside for the early afternoon. To Betty’s great pleased surprise, Jughead had persuaded Valerie to pack them a lunch. Valerie must be well charmed by the prince, as she was not apt to arrange a special meal for the resident monarchs, let alone their visiting guests.

Their conversation and their silence came easily, but ever since the Feast of Promise, their interactions and physical proximity were loaded with trepidation and unknown meaning. Even while walking down to the river, Betty refused his arm for balance, afraid of her body’s reaction to his touch. She was not alone in monitoring their proximity, Jughead kept himself close, but decidedly separate from Betty, pulling back when they were reaching for food, shifting over when Betty fled from an intrusive bee. Never straying far, but never initiating contact. 

It was near unbearable, this dance. Thus, Betty’s focused distraction on the invading leaf.

Betty was only roused from her hypnotic observation of the hair-foliage by a low belly laugh from her companion. Moving her eyes down to meet his gaze he teased, “It appears I have lost you in a spell of a sort.” Betty narrowed her eyes and scrunched her nose in response, but in a small fit of bravery, leaned forward to pluck the colorful leaf from his hair. She moved quickly as not to startle him, but only pulled back slightly once she had snatched the offending object. She was close to his face as she held up the small intruder and quirked a smile in his direction. Jughead stared unmoving at Betty for several shallow breaths until he shifted his weight back onto his elbow and stretched his legs out in front of him, effectively breaking the tension and the mood. 

“Thank you for rescuing me from such a dangerous threat my lady,” his usual sarcasm was present, and his tone unaffected, but Betty noticed he did not meet her gaze as he spoke.

She let out a small, unheard huff, and fell back on her own elbows and moved to mimic Jughead’s stance by stretching out her legs in front of her, trying to even her mood after that rejection, however small.

Silence filled the next several minutes as Betty’s thoughts tumbled to uncomfortable places. Perhaps she misread the tension between them? She perceived the physical abstinence as a way of preserving self control, but he perhaps was attempting to communicate a form of rejection. As she considered that option, her body chilled as she rushed to find contradictory evidence, which was plentiful. He went to the orchards with her yesterday, he was contentedly sitting beside her now, why waste his time if he did not enjoy her company?

A dark thought that had been lurking in her subconscious since the shift in their relationship at the inn, seized its opportunity to hint that Jughead was here to investigate, and he needed access to information, access he would not have if he did not have Betty.

Time to dwell on such a hypothesis was interrupted by what Betty believed to be a ridiculous statement from Jughead. 

“That bridge is shoddily constructed,” he was still not looking at her, but directed his gaze and his hand towards Farmer’s Bridge which was in clear view about 100 meters away from them. 

Indignation rolled within Betty as she sat up and turned to face Jughead, “We were working with the materials available.”

The bridge had originally been constructed of wood and stone, but the raging river underneath plagued the supports enough to threaten its structural integrity. In consequence, they had engineered rope supports that were tied to the mighty oaks on the shore to increase its stability. Its intricate webbing was rather crude to look at, but Betty was certain it would withstand a flood. That is, afterall, how her and the King (an oddly accomplished architect in his own right) had designed the structure.

Sensing his error, Jughead paled and scrambled to a sitting position to face his offended friend, “Betts, damn, I apologize I did not mean to imply…”

“That we are too poor to hobble proper building materials together?” Betty felt defensive, though perhaps that argument was a weak one. Given endless financial support, Betty would have opted for more expensive materials, perhaps commissioned a builder for better stone supports, but money was not as free flowing as it used to be. She had tried to persuade her father to fund the project (he could build 100 bridges and still be the richest man in the entire kingdom) but he refused, both to part with his money and to encourage his daughter’s unseemly hobby. As it happened, the kingdom had to rely on their taxes, a rate which was being stagnated by the Serpent Kingdom.

Feeling bold with anger, Betty tersely remarked, “Not all kingdoms can survive on such meager taxes,” Betty felt guilt biting at her nerves, but her anger soothed the sting.

Jughead flushed with anger and opened his mouth to launch a response but caught himself, quickly facing the river. Betty watched intently as he tamed his own temper, chasing away her own indignation, leaving only remorse in its wake. For the first time in the the afternoon, their silence was loaded in discomfort, but when Jughead finally spoke, his voice was soft and apologetic.

“We made due for two generations on those taxes, we had every reason to believe that it would be enough for two historically wealthy kingdoms. We perceived that any possible rationale for raising the taxes to be foolhardy, thus our resistance.” He paused for several moments before adding, “We may also have acted with petty designs.”

He was staring at his hands now twitching with agitated uncertainty, and Betty felt unmoored to cause such aggravation. 

“I am sorry Jug, you are right of course, the two northern kingdoms have not always treated you and your kingdom with respect.” No matter how it made Betty feel, or how her body would react, she needed to reassure him, to touch him. She reached out to his twitching hands, and he jumped a little at the contact, as if she had shocked him. He did not pull away though, to the contrary he shifted closer so that their legs were leaning against each other.

“Actually I wished you would be impressed with the bridge,” Betty could feel her face redden in embarrassment, “I helped to construct it, and I assure you, it is rather ingenious.”

Although she expected it, Jughead did not laugh, nor did he shrink away in embarrassment, instead with a steady gaze he intertwined their fingers and asked, “Tell me how.”

As Betty explained the construction of the bridge and the ingenuity of the materials, she could feel the tension melt. Although her heart was racing from his touch and his increased proximity, it also, conversely calmed her, brought her back to equilibrium. She knew these actions to be purposeful on his part, so she squeezed his hand in thanks.

He too, looked more at ease. His twitching had ceased, and even the hand that did not hold hers was resting peacefully by his side. As she explained the construction of the bridge he moved closer so that his left leg and her right were almost entirely flushed against each other.

“I take back everything I uttered in ignorance, I defer to your genius Betty.” He tipped his free hand in a salute to her. “Perhaps I should be kinder while in the other Allied Kingdoms, it seems withholding taxes has inspired some ill will. Would not want the ancient alliance to fall apart over a few gold bars.” Jughead said it lightly, but his tone hinted at seriousness underneath.

In a nearly identical tone Betty replied, “Perhaps you really should marry someone from the Allied Kingdom to smooth the troubled waters.” Betty’s courage to say the words failed her once they had left her lips, so her eyes were fixed on the dark grey of her skirt.

Jughead let his hand answer first by dragging the pad of his thumb from her wrist the the knuckle of her index finger so slowly, and as his thumb moved upwards, so did the her line of vision, up to his face. “I meant what I said that night, Betty.”

It was the first time that either of them discussed what was said that evening, and if the sweat beading on their joined hands was any indication, it was not something either were prepared to discuss further. 

Not yet.

With a final squeeze he slowly untangled their hands and easily transitioned, “I wonder who the Blossoms will marry Cheryl off to, now that she is to become heir of the Forest Kingdom, it must be someone rich if they are in as dire circumstances as that ledger suggests.”

“Did Toni voice those concerns to you?” Betty looked towards Jughead, as he shrugged no, but looked at her curiously for further explanation. “She mentioned it to me in passing after a long night’s watch, but I have not been able to discuss it with her further. She suspects the Blossoms will arrange a marriage for her soon, to reassure the kingdom of a secured legacy. Makes some sort of sense I suppose, but Cheryl refuses to speak to it in her letters, and I just wish that she would just tell me, or that she would come early for the wedding ceremonies and just talk to me…”

“Betts, slow down,” Jughead started patting her upper arm in a soothing gesture, “I am worried you are going to forget to breathe.”

Betty timidly responded, “I apologize, it has been brewing beneath the surface for a few days,” her tone turned slightly scolding as she mentioned, “If someone would allow me to see Toni, perhaps I could air these frustrations.”

Jughead sat back on his hands and voiced, a little too innocently, “I make the schedule that makes the most sense.”

Betty let out a frustrated snort of a laugh, “One that keeps her from calling on me?” She unleashed a friend slap on his shoulder, “Afraid of what she might say?”

Jughead nodded towards the sky vigorously, “Absolutely.”

Betty laughed lightly, turning her body towards Jughead, “Do not worry that pretty little head of yours, I am seeing her, finally, this afternoon and I am sure we will simply talk about Cheryl, and whatever is going on the Forest Kingdom.” Jughead was looking at her with that irritating smirk on his face.

Betty’s smile faltered slightly, “Why is that ridiculous grin on your face?”

“You think I am pretty.”

Betty tried to hide her nervousness with laughter and a change of subject back to the Blossom Kingdom when an epiphany blossomed in Betty’s mind.

Her mother had raised her and Polly to be the wives of the upper class, with substantial dowries that would tempt any man from the Allied Kingdoms or elsewhere. Polly was the more valuable choice as heir to the Cooper duchy, she would bring returns on investment through all future profit from the estate. Putting all of this together, in conjunction with the mention of the Forest Kingdom’s finances introduced a troubling thought.

Sensing the sudden shift in tone, Jughead asked, “To where did your mind just travel?”

“Polly provided a perfect opportunity to fund the Blossoms for a lifetime, why were they so against the match that they were running away.” Betty noticed Jughead nodding his head along with the statement, his stream of thought running parallel to her own.

“We need to know who was receiving those payments, and what they were providing in return.”

Tomorrow, the day when Trev returned to the Rider’s main outpost could not come soon enough.

Jughead opened his mouth to speak, presumably to discuss this theory further when they were interrupted by a shrill, “Betty!”

Kevin Keller bounded towards them with heretofore unseen speed and athletic ability that gave Betty pause, as Kevin attempted to stop his forward motion as he approached them. He was not entirely successful in staunching his forward momentum so he jostled into Jughead’s seated form, his smirk indicating more amusement than annoyance.

“Apologies your highness, Betty I was hoping to steal your presence for a bit.”

“Oh I was planning to meet with Miss Topaz at two bells…”

Kevin clasped his hand together, with a sharp slap. “Perfect, I will accompany you to her chambers.” Kevin’s eyebrows perked up and he stood unmoving, waiting for Betty to depart with him. His eyes roved in between Betty and Jughead as a silent urging to speed their farewells.

Frustrated, Betty sighed at Kevin, “Could you give us a moment, Kev?”

“I want to hear your farewells.” Always brazen, Kevin Keller.

“Well then go over yonder and eavesdrop for the illusion of privacy.” Kevin shrugged but did as he was instructed as Betty turned to face an exasperated Jughead. 

“Always being stolen away from me, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Always with the dramatics Prince Forsythe,” she said it teasingly, “I was needing to excuse myself anyway.” Even so, Jughead did look disappointed to be losing her even a second before he intended.

“See you this evening Betty,” and for the second time in their acquaintance he took her hand and kissed it. The first time he had done it, the action was sudden, as if he had not intended for it to happen. This was deliberate. He looked into her eyes as her brought her hand to his mouth, but there was no fear and uncertainty, just simple a plea that she understood the meaning.

Betty did not fully dare understand his meaning, but she certainly held very specific hopes for it.

She said nothing else as she stood and walked towards a very eager Kevin. As they started on the path towards the castle she looked back at Jughead who was now standing but still watching her and Kevin’s progress towards the castle. Kevin, momentarily distracted by a frayed thread on his jacket did not see Betty move her kissed hand to her own lips and placed them upon its surface, in hopes of feeling the ghost of Jughead’s farewell. He noticed the action and she could feel the warmth of his smile even in the increasing distance. He seemed pleased by the final gesture, and moved towards the bridge, his back now facing her own retreating figure.

Betty tried to shake the sudden ache of uncertainty she felt as Kevin turned to her and started speaking in hushed urgent tones.

“I was hoping to find you yesterday Betty, but apparently, unless I have a crown and stormy blue eyes, I am not worth your time.”

“Oh hush, I was at the orchards with Jughead, and do not innocently pretend you did not spend your day in the stables,” She wagged her eyebrows at him. Kevin shrugged, not willing to put effort into any denial, not when he was shaking with unspilled gossip.

“Your boys were engaged in a heated quarrel before the Feast of Promise Saturday evening.” 

“Archie and Jug were fighting?” A layer of concern laced her voice, they were the closest of confidantes, and any occassion that would fracture that bond must be severe, and the guilt lining her stomach hinted at what such an offense could be.

“They attempted to keep their voices down, and am reasonably confident none of the other men overheard, but heated conversations never fail to prick my ear.” Even though the topic of conversation was serious, Kevin could not hide the pride in his expression.

Betty took a deep breath both fearing and knowing the answer the question that she needed to ask, “What were they fighting about Kev?”

He looked at her then with kind, pity laden eyes, but she was grateful that he did not respond glibly, but instead with careful detail. “In encouraging news, Archie seems willing to accept that one day you will marry a man that is not him. Unfortunately, he made it very clear to Jughead that he does not want him to be that man. He explicitly asked his friend to make a promise to him in that regard.”

A deluge of thoughts fell over each other in Betty’s brain. Is that why Jughead had been reserved the past two days? But then why would he make that declaration at the feast? Unless it was solely a defense against the attack from Reggie. But today he reaffirmed his conviction in what he said at the dinner. But what if she had caused a permanent rift between the two old friends? 

Betty involuntarily gasped for air as she had been holding her breath a few seconds too long. Kevin clutched her arm a little tighter but made no comment. Just stroked her arm in time to her breathing, slowly evening it back to normal. Betty’s mind searched for answers to her questions, but as soon as she reasoned one answer, a new query disrupted the logic.

Kevin and Betty were close the castle now, and Kevin hadn’t taken his eyes from Betty. She was unaware he was waiting for her inner turmoil to calm, for her still had more to say.

“He declined.”

At first Betty did not understand the declaration and she shook her head at Kevin to communicate that feeling.

“Jughead. He refused to make the promise to Archie.”

The hope that tore through Betty terrified her more than any of the worries that previously occupied her thoughts. Kevin, eternally perceptive shifted to his final piece of information to distract Betty from dwelling on his last statement.

“Veronica is set to meet with Archie this afternoon, I also shared this with her, she will most likely want your attention after Toni returns to her post.”

Given the growing love Betty sensed on Veronica’s part toward the prince, she could only imagine her new friend’s cyclone of anger.

“Poor Archie, she is going to eviscerate him.”

***

Archie was late. 

Perhaps he could feel her ire pulsing from the room. 

Veronica was several nail drum taps away from invading his chambers and dragging Archie out for this conversation, when the red-head bounded through the doors, an adorable and apologetic grin on his face.

Miss Veronica Lodge was known for her icy determination and intimidation, but her facade  started to melt the moment Archie Andrews kissed her on the cheek and beamed at her with his handsome, trusting face, as he took a seat across from her.

Internally correcting her inner demeanor, Veronica fixed her mouth into a grim line and had to avert her eyes away from Archie when she asked, “Before we begin, is there anything you feel that you should share with me?”

Archie squinted his eyes in confusion, but his smile did not fade. “I was under the impression that sharing was the primary goal of these meetings?”

Frustrated, but sensing an opportunity Veronica countered, “Very true, Archibald, I will begin.” Veronica sat impossibly straight before she continued. “ I am the daughter of a rich man, and while that status earned me flattery and devotion, it did not earn me respect. As such, respect is what I prize above any other compliment. I will be the queen of this Kingdom, and I will never have it’s respect if my husband continues to act like a lovesick fool over a woman who both is not his wife, and more importantly does not love him back.”

Archie did not look taken aback, nor did he look sheepish with guilt, instead he took a page from his future wife’s book and kept his usual open demeanor even and unreadable. “Is it my turn?”

“Is that truly how you care to respond?” Veronica threatened.

Archie repeated slower, as if Veronica needed extended simplicity, “Is it. My. Turn?”

Veronica narrowed her eyes but gave him a solitary nod.

“I give the impression of amiability, and its true that there are less than a half dozen people in all of this world I could claim to have an unfavorable view of. This presents the illusion that there are not people that I value above others, or that my loyalty is universal. For the longest time that list included only three people. My father, Jughead and of course Lady Elizabeth. That will not change, not even if my foolishness causes a rift in those relationships. My loyalty is unwavering for as long I have air to breathe.”

Veronica stared at Archie with a lopsided of mix of rage and awe, and she could feel her control running away from her as she stood and paced over to where Archie sat. He did not cower from her gaze,but  instead displayed a kingly amount of defiance that had no place in this personal argument. 

With increased frustration, Veronica continued. “Second item I am choosing to share with you. I do not appreciate men who pursue women who do not want them.”

Archie almost looked amused, which did nothing to improve Veronica’s mood. “It further infuriates me when they refuse to apologize for said behavior, causing undue distress to the lady.”

Finally Archie showed signs of his usual vulnerability, “I do owe Lady Elizabeth an apology, but you are mistaken if you believe I am still pursuing her romantically. I have abandoned that notion.” Archie stood in front of Veronica, his height giving him the physical intimidation advantage, if not the vocal upper hand, something Veronica made very clear in her response.

“Do tell then Archie, why are you are forbidding two people, who by your own admission are your closest friends, from pursuing a personal relationship.” Archie moved impossibly closer to follow her statement with a retort, but Veronica shouted over him, determined to wrest control of the conversation. “I know you demanded Jughead stay away from her!”

Archie contorted his face in confused thought before it smoothed as he softly cursed “Keller” under his breath. Veronica did not wait for him to be ready with further confrontation.

“The last thing I wish to share about me today, and possibly for the rest of our marriage, is I refuse to be played for a fool, nor do I allow my friends to be treated as fools if I can do anything to prevent such an occurrence.”

Archie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them Veronica was struck by the vulnerability but determination in his gaze. Their bodies were close to flush and she had to tilt her head close to vertical to see him. But she could not tear her gaze away.

“With those truths voiced, I believe I have two things left to share with you. First, I mean the words I speak. Including, importantly, that I am not going to pursue Betty any longer. Just as I mean that I will never stop caring about her. Both of those things can be true.”

Archie’s confidence stalled momentarily as he glanced sideways, his gaze desperate to escape Veronica’s commandeering presence.

“Regarding the confrontation with Jughead, I meant my promise. I am allowed to not want the woman I have loved for the majority of my life become entangled with my greatest friend. It is not an unnatural desire, and it will take significant time for me to accept any relationship between them. If ever.” Archie batted his hand through the air as if he could dismiss the threat. Veronica recognized his fears as legitimate, though naive, but was too enraptured with his confessions to comment on them.

“Finally, my last personal detail of this day.” All of the intense anger, determination and eagerness rushed from his face and body into his hands, which jerked forward to grab Veronica face, burning her cheeks with his energy. “I said before that my loyalty valued my father, Jug and Betty over all others. Veronica, since that day in the hallway where I asked you to call me Archie, you have had my loyalty. It was not earned through blood like my father, nor through years of shared experience like Jughead and Betty. It was just yours, as if you had stolen it from me.” Moving his head down to Veronica’s he whispered, “How did you accomplish such a feat.”

Desperate to maintain at least the illusion of control over the conversation, Veronica responded with as much bluster a she could manufacture, “Through lust I would imagine.”

Archie’s eyes snapped to her, and an uncharacteristic smirk played on his lips. Before Veronica could report on such a response, said lips were placed upon hers with such force that they parted, inadvertently making the kiss more risque than originally intended. 

The kiss lasted only several seconds when Archie pulled away, his smirk sat wider on his face. “I believe Miss Lodge that you are correct.” He gave her another quick kiss to the corner of her mouth as Archie turned towards the room’s exit. 

“Until this evening Veronica.” Were the last words Archie uttered as he sped from the room.

The entire conversation lasted less than a quarter of an hour, and yet so much had shifted, both in Veronica’s relationship with Archie and the view of herself.

Veronica was the picture of controlled fury, bottled and ready to be unleashed with direct purpose on any who would dare cross her path. She controlled situations and people, and was comfortable in her power. When she met Archibald she was overly confident in her ability to control their lives and marriage, and by extension the kingdom. She had no desire to become a dictator, but maintaining dominion over everything in her life granted her a sense of calm.

Archie now challenged that entire notion. Her heart was racing and she felt as if she would climb out of her own skin at any moment.

She thought she had found a companion when she met Archibald. A sweet man to say yes throughout their lives together, and Veronica was pleased with the notion.

Instead, it appears she had met her match, and Veronica found herself torn between excitement and utter terror.

***

“So how exactly did you acquire such a connection to the Riders?”

Jughead and Betty had opted to walk the half hour to the Riders, rather than expedite the trip on horses. Betty had suggested it was too much hassle for such a short journey, but Jughead had secretly hoped she had wished to prolong their time with between the two of them.

God knows that is what he wanted.

“I’ve known Trev – Trevor Brown, the brother to the cook Val – for our whole lives. His father works on our estate– Trev did as well, before he left to join the Riders.” Betty wrapped her cloak tighter to her body, and Jughead had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her for additional warmth.

“Must have a strong inclination to serve his kingdom if he is willing to abandon a secure job at the richest estate for a thankless service job.”

Quickly, almost too quickly, Betty responded, “It was either that or join the River Kingdom military force.”

Jughead’s eyes were trained on Betty’s face as she stared at her moving feet, instead of the man beside her. Although she did not intend such a consequence, her actions provided context outside of her words,  causing her avoidance to produce a clear picture in Jughead’s mind. Rather than pilfer through unpleasant details, Jughead simply asked, “Archie?”

Betty bit her lip and nodded, and although Jughead wanted to press for the rest of the story, he let the questions remain unasked. He found that causing Betty discomfort was enough to dissuade him from even his worst investigative tendencies. A feat he recognized as extraordinary. To satiate the urge, he instead pivoted the conversation back to their investigative mission at hand.

“What routes does Trev monitor? Perhaps he ferried the original documents.” But Betty was already shaking her head, albiet with a small smile playing into the corners of her mouth.

“He might have some information from the larger Serpent ports, but he is  _ your _ royal courier.” 

Jughead’s steps sputtered a little bit as he sheepishly responded, “I should have known that, but please,” Jughead leaned back and whined akin to bored child, “Dealing with couriers is so tiresome.” But Jughead did not fail to recognize their importance.

The Riders of Communication were established hundreds of years ago during the formation of the Allied Kingdoms. One of the benefits of such an alliance would be be free and rapid communication from a dedicated team of riders on dedicated clear routes. There were three separate types: merchant, civilian, and royal. The largest group consisted of the civilian riders who operated the largest courier service for citizens of the Allied kingdoms. A smaller, but still sizable group, were the merchant Riders, those who tracked and catalogued the shipping manifests and corresponding missives. Jughead cursed that this Trev did not hold such a status. Alas, he was one of the elite to be elevated to a Royal Rider, assigned to a royal family, and while sporadically performing the other duties, was assigned solely to ferry communication for a royal family.

The fact that it was his royal family did not improve his mood or increase Jughead’s estimation of this Trev Brown fellow.

“Jug, you must have met Trev at some point, you are the royal family he serves. Kind brown eyes, sweet smile…”

Jughead aggressively kicked a stray pebble that had the audacity to place itself in the path of his boot, “He sounds like quite the charmer, I can see why Archie would want such a prize in his military.” Jughead hinted, alluding to the story Betty refused to tell earlier. 

Betty stopped abruptly, and considered Jughead for a moment before she curtly stated, “Indeed, you are starting to sound so similar to Archibald it is no surprise that you are sharing similar thoughts.” The sharpness of Betty’s voice slid through her seemingly innocuous words, sending a shiver through the entirety of Jughead’s spine. The last time that she had looked at him with such venom had been before their night at the inn. A state in their relationship he did not care to revisit.

Since the feast, Jughead had consciously and tortuously kept his physical distance from Betty. Not that he had not wanted to touch her. In fact since his slight outburst at dinner, his entire body twitched to be near her, to feel her. It both confused and terrified him, but rather than dwell on these feelings he waited for Betty to make the first move. Then yesterday she did, and it was too intense. Too intoxicating. 

Given the glare she had directed solely towards him, he was desperate for a soothing connection. He reached out to her, grabbing her hand and tucking her arm through his, propelling them forward. “Oh Betts, what a terrifying prospect.” He attempted to keep his voice light, with his sarcastic tone intact. Betty melted slightly, but it took several more minutes of travel and constant ministrations of his thumb on her hand for her to soften into him. While at ease with the return to easy conversation, a small flutter of panic remained placed upon his heart, as a warning.

Betty unwrapped her arm from his as they reached the River Riders Hall, giving him a reassuring smile while performing the act. Jughead logically knew this was to avoid arousing suspicion to whatever it was their relationship was becoming, but the panicking flutter disrupted a few of his heartbeats before it refocused on the task at hand.

The Riders Hall was a large cavernous building full of records and riders earning some respite in between travels; but the space for the public was little more than an entry hall. A Rider, as always, was stationed at the desk to facilitate the sending and receiving of communications to their public. The man currently on duty seemed ill fit for the task with his sharp angular face that look like it had not displayed an empathetic emotion in years.

“Receiving or sending?”

Betty, bravely seemed undeterred by the emotive shell before her as she sweetly asked, “Actually a dear friend of mine, Trevor Brown, has returned from his route to and from the Serpent Kingdom. I was hoping to see him before he embarks on his next route.”

Showing he was capable of displaying at least one emotion, the man rolled his eyes in annoyance, and moved glacially through the stone archway behind him.

“The Riders attract such effusive members, agreed Betts?” Jughead raised an eyebrow towards his companion as she landed a sharp jab to his ribs. Jughead emitted a small yelp not in pain, but rather to indicate the sensitivity of that area. 

Honing in on her prey, Betty lunged forward pinching lightly at his ribs. In between assaults, Jughead lunged fruitlessly at her quick, vicious hands. Finally he managed to grab one, and soon after the other, and in consequence of these rapid movements had pulled Betty close to his body. Now that the action had dissipated all that remained was Jughead and Betty heavily breathing inches from each other.

Jughead, knowing that there were not in any way alone quickly relinquished her, also hoping that he did not make her uncomfortable by the sudden close proximity.

Betty averted her gaze and he was not able to gage her displeasure or appeasement before a large, joyous, ball of a man barrelled through the doors with the expressionless wonder. 

“Betty Cooper! What a wonderous surprise!” Trevor rushed forward and swept Betty into his arms as she let out a surprised squeal as he spun her around in a small circle. 

“Trev, always lovely to see you,” Betty glanced at Jughead, and she must have been concerned at what she found there as she spun  _ Trev _ around to face Jughead. “Trev, may I introduce…”

Trev’s eyes widened as both his steps and speech stuttered, “P-Prince For-Forsythe, I am Trevor Brown your Royal Rider, though I am sure you already knew that.” Trevor bowed so low that Jughead bent slightly to observe if his nose was touching the stone floor.

Jughead did not, in fact, know that piece of information until Betty shared it with him only several minutes ago. But he was not about to let the boy who just manhandled Betty know such an embarrassment. Particularly after he just bowed at him. And when Betty and he had a very specific mission to accomplish.

“I apologize for not previously making myself accessible for meetings, but am pleased with the opportunity to rectify that current mistake.” Jughead plastered on his most charming smile towards this boy who he had an unexplained irritation for, and in return, Trevor beamed at him with such warmth the sun would be envious.

“Oh, sir thank you, thank you.”

Betty, for her part, looked entirely suspicious of this exchange, but was more focused on the task at hand. Eyeing the attending rider meaningfully she addressed her friends, “Perhaps we should move this exchange to an anteroom.”

Trevor immediately tracked on Betty’s hints, much to Jughead’s annoyance, and moved them into an anteroom down a few labyrinthine hallways of the building. Trevor was clearly uncomfortable, shifting on his heels from side to side, understanding that the presence of the woman he used to love, and his de facto employer could not be a coincidence. “I gather that this is not a social call?”

Betty looked incredibly soft and apologetic towards Trevor, but did not waver in her purpose. “Apologies, Trev. Jughead and I have been supplementing the Constable’s investigation and we are in need of the Rider’s assistance.”

Trev’s eyes widened at both of them, but his speech was directed surprisingly toward Jughead. “Of course, for you both, I am happy to help.”

Jughead paused in shock at the eagerness of the boy, so much so that he did not reach into his bag to retrieve the ledger, even though that was clearly his cue to perform the action. Betty had to softly clear her throat to rouse Jughead to action, and even then, he moved with slow suspicion. Frustrated with his pace Betty reached over to grab the item, and began explaining to Trev, in carefully selected detail, of their suspicions. 

Already well aware of the story that Betty was telling, Jughead instead chose to focus on the non-verbal interactions between Betty and the Rider. He was clearly devotedly attendant to her. But Jughead found  he was surprised at the constant glances Trev leveled his direction, as if in constant need of his approval. Jughead assumed that was due to his status as Royal Rider to the Jones nobility, but still. It was rather excessive. 

Betty’s tone shifted to one of gentle pleading as she asked, “We know that there is something to this ‘Payments’ and ‘Shipments’ but we do not know exactly what is being shipped and to whom. The merchant riders keep all records of communication here, and we were hoping you could provide us the information.”

Trev sprung into action, picking up the ledger and addressing them both as he stuttered his way backwards towards the exit. “Of course, right away Betty,” Trevor paused to perform another oddly low bow towards Jughead, “Your highness, it may take me several minutes. The merchant records are stored on a rather high scaffold, but I shall be as efficient as possible.” 

He fell out of the room, and Jughead was about to exit to confirm Trev was still in fine shape, but after he heard the quick fall of footsteps, he turned instead to see Betty regarding him with a curious expression.

“That was certainly an odd interaction.” Betty was stifling a grin, and Jughead found that it stoked an ugly sleeping creature in his gut.

“Does a typical interaction with  _ Trev _ not typically include endless, shameless flirting? In front of his employer, no less?” Jughead could not keep his eye contact with Betty, instead opting to fidget with fringed runner that was running across the length of the table in front of them. 

Betty scoffed in disbelief, while simultaneously grabbing his fidgeting hand, both of which captured his attention, “Is that really the conclusion you have reached after that interaction? Because if I had not been in the room, I am half way convinced he would have tried to sneak a clandestine kiss. With  _ you. _ ”

Jughead had no control over what expression his face contorted to in reaction, but it must have been entertaining since Betty let out a sharp laugh. He was about to shoot what he hoped was a withering glare in her direction, but instead she extended her other hand to cup his face turning it towards her own, the increased proximity of which caused his palm to sweat.

It did not seem to deter Betty.

“I do not find jealousy attractive Jones, but it occurs to me it may be borne out of uncertainty.” Betty did untangle her hand from his but only so she could move it his back, applying soft pressure to move him closer to her.

Jughead’s thoughts were coming in short semi-coherent bursts, but his body was responding independently of his brain, as his hands reached out to cup her face in his hands. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he forced himself into speaking, “Betty, it is not jealousy, exactly…”

“Then what is troubling you?” Jughead wanted to tell her. He also wanted to kiss her. Desperately. But deep in his bones he was certain that if he aired his concerns, Betty would not allow herself to be kissed by him. 

They were thankfully interrupted from this turmoil by the sound of incoming footsteps. Even with their impending interruption, Jughead and Betty disentangled slowly and deliberately, not concerned with being observed by Trev in such a state of connection.

The pair was reasonably presentable as Trev re-entered the room, their ledger was now accompanied in his grasp by another volume. He put both on the table and opened the Rider’s record and ledger to corresponding pages. “There are only seven ports that ship out goods in weights that would merit such a payment. In the third ledger I checked,” Trev gestured toward the books in front of him, “I found your shipments.”

That explained his timeliness, but it not give Jughead and Betty the answers they were looking for. Jughead did, in fact, spot the corresponding shipments and payment receipts on the Merchant Rider records, but it still did not expose the who and the what of the trade.

Jughead let out a groan of frustration, “All this tells us is that Clifford was sending his goods to the Western States, which is what we suspected anyway.” It was true. Jughead and Betty had both agreed that the wild trade of the Western Free States was the most like destination of King Blossom’s mystery trade.

Trev was shaking his head excitedly at them, “Right, but it is what it does not say that is helpful.”

Jughead stared at Trev like he was an idiot, an assumption Jughead was all too eager to believe.

Trev pointed at the item line in the ledger, “Riders do not put sender and recipient or shipment information in the ledger if it has come with corresponding detail documents, which this has,” Trev pointed to a small notation “xD” and the end of the line.

“Excellent Trev, so let us examine the documents,” Jughead interjected, slightly annoyed he did not lead with such information.

Some of Trev’s excitement deflated as he tentatively replied, “I checked our store for the documents, and it appears they have been misplaced, which more than likely means the Merchant Rider dedicated to this particular port was paid off.”

While Trev was disappointed in the news, Jughead was elated. 

“That means those participating in this trade are hiding something.” He turned to Betty, whose eyes shone with the same conclusion.

“It is an entirely different set of Riders at the Port, it it unlikely that they were also paid off by the Blossoms and their mystery buyer. They would have to bribe the entire port as opposed to the assigned merchant rider.” Betty turned back to Trev almost running out of breath from the speed and excitement of her revelation. “You must go to this port and bring us a copy of the documents, I am now certain that this is tied to Jason’s murder.”

Trev’s eyes widened as he hastily interjected, “No, no I am due back at Southside Castle in two days, and I promised my sister a visit this evening. Going to this port would delay me a day at least.”

Jughead rolled his eyes, “I’m your prince, I can easily have a civilian rider send a communication to the castle explaining your delay, in fact we can send all communication with this civilian Rider so you can skip your route this time.”

“NO!”

Trev’s loud interjection startled them both. “No,” Trev repeated in a less hostile tone, “I must...I cannot abandon my duty to...the castle.” Jughead eyed this interjection with annoyed suspicion, but Betty opted for a different tactic.

“Trevor, someone tried to kill my sister, someone did kill Jason Blossom. No one, except for Jughead and I are trying to find this killer, who may very well kill again. Please. Help us.” Betty grabbed Trevor’s hands and was looking at him with her large dewey green eyes. He could see Trev melt under the gaze of her. 

The entire tableau put every one of Jughead’s nerves on edge.

“Yes Betty of course, I will send my apologies to my sister tonight, and embark immediately. I will still reach the Southside Castle on time.”

Jughead rolled his eyes again, thoroughly annoyed with this Rider. “That is not necessary, I can send a Civilian Rid–” 

“And it would arouse suspicion. I will return on schedule with all evidence and correspondence I discover.” Trevor’s face was firm and decided, an odd turn from the acquiescent servant from their initial meeting.

“You shall return in how many days? Five? Six?” Jughead raised his voice in volume as Betty shot him a pleading glance.

“No, you are right Trev, we would not want to put any of the interested parties on edge. All must appear as it should.” Betty voiced in a coddling tone. The last line, however, was delivered to Jughead with a sharp edge. He was still swimming in annoyance but he gave a short nod as consent. The signal was enough for Betty to turn to Trev and grasp him in a short embrace, “Thank you Trev, thank you.”

“For you, anything Betty,” Trevor looked sweetly at Betty. Then as if remembering that Jughead was there, Trev looked to Jughead and hastily added, “And of course I am at your service my liege.”

With that final declaration, Trev hastily left the room, and Betty and her shining eyes exited not soon after. He followed her perfectly down the winding path, and without any delay she found the exit of the Riders Hall. Of course she should have a perfect sense of direction.

The pit of unease that started growing when Trev and Betty first greeted one another had grown into a heavy boulder that seemed to be physically slowing his pace. Betty, however, did not seem to notice, as she excitedly chatted away beside him, atitter with excitement of the break in their investigation. About halfway through their walk, his mood had leveled into slight jealous annoyance. Light enough that he decided to address his concerns to Betty through his favorite lens, sarcasm.

“So I see that Trevor happens to be yet another of your endless suitors, chased away by our red-headed friend.”

Betty blushed and glanced at her advancing feet, “It was an unreturned flirtation, and I am sorry that it ended with his forced service.”

Before Jughead could stop himself he asked, “It has worked in your favor though, tell me how many scorned lovers do you have lying around, we could get them to solve the entire case.”

Betty stopped in her tracks, not even attempting to hide the offence on her face.

“Is that really how you see me, Jughead. A woman who uses men as pawns? I am good to people and in return they are good to me. A habit you clearly do not share.”

The annoyance at Betty and her control of the kingdom disappeared immediately and was replaced by sheer panic. Jughead had been suspicious of Betty and her ability to have the entire kingdom at her beck and call, but it was his jealousy, not his logic that formed the conclusion that her means had ill designs. Betty was good, he knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

“Betty, I am sorry, I was uncomfortable with your interactions with Trev, it is true, but that does not forgive my outburst.” Betty’s expression barely softened. “Betts, please.”

Betty’s expression remained sober, but she looked less upset with Jughead as she neared where he stood. “Jughead, do you really not understand?”

Jughead, in fact, did not understand.

Betty stared at him for several moments, as she waited for his response. A response that Jughead could not form, despite his best efforts. Hearing nothing, Betty let out a sigh and started again on their journey towards the castle. 

Still feeling unmoored, he took Betty’s arm in his, and whispered just loud enough to hear, “Betty, your disappointment is the worst punishment.” Betty stopped them again but did not unwind their arms. Instead increased the intensity of the embrace by taking his hand and interlocking his fingers with hers. With this increased grip, she gently pulled Jughead down to her as she stretched on her tiptoes to place a ghost of a kiss on his cheek. 

“I know.”

Jughead’s heart sputtered and took on a new rhythm.

They walked very slowly back to the castle, saying little with their words but volumes with their actions. Jughead had moved their interlocked arms in front of his chest so that their hands rested almost on his erratically beating heart. Betty slowed their pace even more by softly laying her head against Jughead’s shoulder.

Jughead knew that a conversation about this increased intimacy was well overdue. They could not pretend or avoid the implications of a Prince spending every second of his free time with the daughter of a Duke.

But for tonight, Jughead just wanted to be a boy, walking alone with the woman he was falling for.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes its been a month. I am proud of this chapter, but it was excruciating to write. I make no promises, but since a lot of stuff happens in the next chapter, I think it will be easier to write.
> 
> Recs by Kez:
> 
> 1) I 100% wanted to name this chapter "To All the Boys I've Loved Before" because its so fitting given Jug's little outburst. But that doesn't really go with the theme so instead I shall reward myself for finishing this chapter by watching it for the 78th time
> 
> 2) I spent hours looking at bridge architecture after getting a super rough visual of what I wanted Farmer's Bridge to look like. It was oddly soothing. Highly recommend.
> 
> 3) Current events affected this chapter a bit, and the misogyny was a little more difficult to write. Tell a lady that they are awesome today. Any lady reading this: you are worth it, and you are awesome.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment or kudos if you'd like. I mean I would like it... ;)


	9. A Father's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bears repeating, you readers are so wonderful. Thank you for sharing and commenting. You make this all so much more worthwhile. 
> 
> Now buckle up and enjoy this monster everyone!

The morning after Jughead and Betty’s visit to the riders, the castle was collectively woken with a startle while the sun still hid away on the horizon. A cadre of maids were deployed to each chamber housing a resident in the castle, and the two maids assigned to plague Betty’s bedchamber almost tossed her from the bed in their eagerness. While in motion, they informed Betty that she and the rest of the castle were to be in acceptable attire and in the hall as immediately as they were able. Betty blinked blankly at them in the darkness until one of them thrust a dress in front of her face as a way to inspire action.

Betty set about lacing the simple dark green dress over her shift when one of the maids tutted at her lack of efficiency. The tall blonde maid – Hilda, Betty thought she remembered – turned Betty about face, and braced her foot on her back while lacing the dress, as if Betty were an unruly shoe. It happened so quickly that Betty did not have a moment's breath to protest, though she felt greatly disused by the entire spectacle. Hilda then clapped her hands together and made a shooing motion towards the door. Betty had a moment of petulant rebellion as she ambled leisurely towards the sitting room, before Hilda smacked her bottom to jolt her forward. The other, smaller maid was waiting for her at the chamber door, clearly as afraid of Hilda as Betty was becoming. The trio continued apace down the corridors, with Hilda walking behind Betty to ensure efficiency.

Upon entering the large hall, Betty was both surprised and confused by the array of people assembled. Five stewards of Allied Hall of Records were present, which was a suspicious amount. Typically, only one steward was required for documenting any royal decree or announcement, two if it was one of lasting significance, like the announcement of the royal engagement. For any other change in law or government three or four were more than enough to document and distribute the change. This number indicated a change in land ownership, dissolution of marriage, or a crime. Of the three, a crime seemed the most plausible for them to be so hastily beckoned for at such an hour. Such a conclusion caused her empty stomach to sour and churn, putting Betty ill at ease.

Besides the stewards, only the castle staff, all of the Kings advisers, and Andrews men had arrived before her. Veronica entered several minutes later, clearly still clinging to the vestiges of sleep, but looking pristine and fabulous regardless. Betty was starting to believe in the impossibility of a disheveled Veronica. V sent a wink in Betty’s direction, but such an effort immediately triggered a large yawn.

The rest of the few inhabitants of the castle, and a few high ranking officials from the township filed in soon after, while the Serpent force, led by Jughead rounded out the gathered crowd. Betty could see Jughead searching for her in the crowd, and when he found her, cocked a questioning look in her direction, seeking a hint for the purpose of the gathering. Betty shrugged and shook her head, earning a squint from Jughead as he turned to face the River Kingdom King and Prince. 

“Care to enlighten us on the purpose of this obscenely early gathering your grace?” Jughead asked, really the only person of any rank who had the right to ask. No one but other members of royalty questioned the King. 

Surprisingly, Fred shrugged slightly and responded, “I received a letter early this morning to assemble a quorum of recordkeepers and the castle inhabitants for a decree. We are just waiting for…”

On cue, a group of five or so men entered the hall moving at a purposeful and steady pace. It only took a breath for Betty to recognize them; they were her father’s guard, and indeed, in the center of this huddle was her patron, looking determined and hurried.

Hal Cooper was scanning the very small crowd, and given its number, found Betty, his intended quarry, almost immediately. His caravan crossed the room towards her, and his face softened ever so slightly as he gestured for Betty to join him. Her body started moving on its own as her mind raced for an explanation for such a show. On the way to the front dias, she passed Jughead, his eyes filled with concern and focused only on Betty’s face. She longed to send him a reassuring look, but she did not contain the capacity to feign such an unfelt emotion so early in the morning.

The guard remained towards the front of the crowd as Betty and her father ascended the few steps to join the King and Archie on the dias. The five stewards, sensing their duty would be required momentarily, took out their parchment and were seated at a long table behind the Coopers and the Andrews. Archie looked worried and confused, and while these were normal emotions for him, Betty wondered if she wore a mirrored expression on her face.

Wasting no time, her father turned to address the small assembled crowd. “Good morning, I appreciate everyone’s timeliness at such an early hour in the morning. I will show my gratitude by making this announcement as quick and efficient as possible.” Betty’s heart fell into her stomach as her father gave a quick nod over his shoulder toward the stewards, whose quills rose to attention. “I, Harold Cooper, Duke and keeper of all the Cooper holdings announce a change in heir for all property and fortune, from Polly Cooper to Elizabeth Cooper.” In the shocked silence, everyone could hear the quiet rustling of the papers Hal pulled from his overcoat. “The change in succession has been signed by my wife, my former heir, myself, and several notaries. As soon as the new Lady Cooper, the King, and the recordkeepers sign and acknowledge the documents, the change will be complete. Please address my daughter and new heir appropriately.”

Betty was numb. Cognitively she understood what was happening but she could not feel the meaning behind any of it. She blindly followed her father over to the table and signed the document before her, a few simple strokes of a quill and her life was altered. 

She should have hesitated, she should have asked questions. Something. Anything. Anything other than the blind obedience that was embedded in Betty’s psyche. Perhaps someone else would put a pause on the proceedings, she glanced toward the King, Fred; her friend, and more of a father figure to her than the man standing beside her. To him, this must seem like a promotion for one of his favorite subjects. He did not spare a glance as he signed his name next to her own.

Betty looked out in the crowd for a few select faces. First she turned to Archie, who, no matter how much hurt he caused, cared unquestionably about her well-being. His face was turned in concentration toward the ground, deep in serious thought, and could provide no comfort to Betty. Next she found Veronica, who was glancing between Betty and Archie, her face painted with identical concern directed toward them both. Veronica, seeing she had caught Betty’s attention mouthed an, “Alright?” towards her. Betty could not form her mouth into even a wordless response, but her non-verbal reaction must have been enough to deny the affirmative, as Veronica’s face twisted in pity. Betty could not both maintain eye contact and prevent her tears from falling, so she looked for her final face. The face she found without effort in the crowd. 

He was already looking at her, as if oblivious to the world around him. His look was intense and focused, and when he was certain he had Betty’s attention he gave he one short, slow, purposeful nod. It was a gesture that Betty knew unquestionably to mean “You are fine” and “I am here with you.” Betty closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the strength of that silent reassurance guide her through the rest of this ritual.

One by one, the document was notarized by each of the seated stewards, each signature causing a lurch in her stomach and the feeling to return to her body. When the final steward signed and stamped the official document, the anger, concern, disbelief and fear was almost overwhelming in her shaking body.

She was now Lady Cooper, heir to richest estate in all the Allied Kingdoms and one of the richest in the entirety of the world. This promotion meant more freedom, more power, more influence. Betty both did not want it, nor did she know what to do with such things. It was Polly who was bred to care and control the practiced formality.

Polly.

This was the root of the fear that was rushing through her bloodstream. What did this mean for Polly? About Polly?

The King announced that the castle would be providing a morning meal as thanks for the early morning attendance, and nary a soul was keen to turn down such a gesture. Instead they all formed small gossiping circles, buzzing with opinion and meaning.

Her father, however, was not interested in tarrying any longer, and after a few final words with Fred, he and his disappointed looking guard moved expediently toward the exit. She watched him for a few stunned heartbeats before her anger commandeered her body, and she marched out of the hall to meet him. The small band of Cooper staff had not traveled far from the entrance, but the group was far enough away to avoid being overheard by the remaining crowd. 

“Father!”

Hal stopped, and turned to face his daughter, his posture hunched and his face drawn tight, not pleased to be confronted by his new heir.

“Were you truly planning to leave, with nary an explanation. I have not seen you for near a month and now you come here to uproot my existence without offering a word of comfort. Are you going to tell me how the change of succession is allowed? What happened to Polly? Is she well?”

Hal had the gall to let out an aggrieved sigh, but he did have a response carefully prepared for Betty. “Polly will recover completely from her injuries. In fact, when I saw her last night, she seemed well on her way to full health. She has, however, decided to join the convent and become a servant of the church. As you know, this a perfectly viable cause for a change of succession.”

His condescending explanation was true, but it rang hollow. There was more, of that she was certain, but her father had already resumed his exit towards the main entry of the castle.

Unable to reign in her bitterness she shouted after him, “Well, father, it was pleasant to see you I suppose. Nice of you to check in on my well-being.” Hal stopped at this and turned, motioning for his guard to stay where they were as he approached Betty.

“I apologize Betty, there is an urgent matter in need of my attention and I cannot delay for pleasantries.” Hal’s voice was hard, but his deep green stare remained softly trained on Betty’s face, and his gaze appeared thoughtful but conflicted. Finally reaching a decision, Hal reached forward and took his daughter in his arms.

“I do love you Betty, please I beg you to remember that.”

Hal turned to leave, and this time he was successful, as the shock prevented any further action on Betty’s part. She could count on her hands the number of times that her father had voiced his love for her, and each time she was certain it was for appearance. This time it rang disturbingly true, and it was more effective in increasing her unease than comforting her. 

Betty now stood alone in the hallway. She knew that she was expected to return to the main hall, that the new Lady Cooper would be in high demand as conversation companion. But as all the conflicting emotions barrelled through her with boundless force, she instead found herself leaning against the stone wall gasping for air.

“Betty! Betty, breathe. Breathe with me.” A small feminine voice pierced through the cacophonous pounding of emotions. Betty opened her eyes, bleary with unshed tears. As she blinked them away to clear her vision, the first thing her eyes focused on was a bright fuschia ribbon braided through long beautiful brown hair.

“T-Toni?”

“Yes, Coop, now just breathe in time with me.”

Betty concentrated on the small frame of the friend in front of her; timing her breathing to match the deliberate pace of her inhales and exhales. Betty gripped the shoulders of Toni, finding physical comfort in tethering herself to another human being.

After a handful of minutes passed, Betty’s breathing returned to normal, and she no longer felt crushed by the world around her. He unease, however, remained.

“Coop, you nearly scared the death out of me,” Betty smiled at her friend, thankful for something as normal as her simple teasing. The brief moment of levity allowed Betty some clarity, so she could finally speak coherently about the insane events of this very early morning.

“Toni, I do not think I am capable of this task.”

What task?” Toni gently prodded.

“Being the heir to an estate. Being Duchess Cooper eventually.” It was true she did not wish for the increased responsibility and formality of being the heir, but she knew she would run the estate better than Polly ever could. That is a task Polly would have relegated to her husband.

Oh my.

Husband. As heir, she would expect to be married within the next year. Her mind traitorously formed the image of black hair and a silver crown in her mind that was gratefully interrupted by the response from her friend.

“You have always been well suited for power Betty, and you handle it with grace. You are more than capable of running the estate, and you forget.” Toni paused and grabbed Betty’s hand so that she caught her gaze, “You are not alone in this life, you have people who love you who will walk with you through any hardship.”

Immediately, Betty’s thoughts drifted to her favorite red-haired friend. “I wish I could speak to Cheryl. Even though my sudden shift to heiress happened on better terms, she knows best what this situation feels like.”

“The king is sending out Riders to all the ports, kingdoms, and townships to inform the world of the change in succession. You are rather an event  _ Lady  _ Cooper.” Betty leveled a warning at her friend, but she smiled as Toni continued, “He could not have the capacity to fill such a widespread communication, so I will volunteer to take the message to Forest Castle. After all, the entire trip can be completed over the span of a day, so I am sure the King will graciously accept.”

Betty nodded in subconscious approval, “I do not have time to pen a letter…”

“No worries, I will tell her everything, for us both.” Toni’s eyes made a motion towards the hall, “We should probably return, I will be dispatched on my communication mission soon, and I am sure you will be missed.”

Betty stared regretfully at the entrance to the hall, “Yes, I suppose that you are correct.”

A slow evil grin spread across Toni’s face, “Or I could retrieve Jughead from the main hall to fetch you.”

Betty glared at the meddler. She had told Toni only the bare facts of the state of her and Jugheads interactions when they had met, not really going into detail on how Betty felt about those facts. Betty herself was not entirely certain she understood her feelings on the matter. Toni, however, found the newfound attraction between her friends to be endlessly amusing.

“I had to trip him to prevent him from going after you instead of me.”

“Toni, cease.”

“It would not surprise me if he is pacing in front of the entrance waiting for you.”

Betty laughed at the thought of such an image, as Toni looked back meaningfully at her. For just a moment, she let herself forget about her current unfortunate circumstance. She wrapped Toni in a short, but firm embrace.

“Thank you,” Betty whispered pulling back, gaining enough control of her emotions to keep her tears in check.

“After you, Coop,” Toni guided her the first few steps with her hand on her back, but Betty, though reluctant, was cognizant that her presence would be required in the hall with the eager gossipers. 

Stepping over the threshold, Betty felt every eye move to her figure. While no more than three quarters of an hour had passed since her father’s announcement, the news had spread at least as far as the castle township, and the crowd had doubled in number. 

Although he was not pacing by the door as Toni had teased, Jughead and the small huddle of Serpents had taken position close to the door, so that he would be the first person to intercept Betty upon re-entry to the hall. After a promise to visit Betty immediately upon her return late this evening, and a quick salute to her prince, Toni made her way over to the King, presumably to offer her makeshift Rider services.

“How is Polly?” A strange overwhelming emotion crashed over Betty in a wave, so affected by Jughead’s keen sense to know her first thought had been for her sister. 

“She is well,” she shook her head to communicate the oddity of her next statement, “Her intent is to take orders upon her full recovery, and stay in service at the convent.”

Jughead started slightly and shook his head, “A sudden development, one would think. Had she mentioned any previous desire to join the church?”

Betty stared at Jughead with annoyed disbelief, “She was about to abscond away with Jason Blossom.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Jughead, there is something greater, and I fear more sinister in play here.” She was twitching with the need to touch him. At some point, Betty had become dependent on his touch for comfort. Jughead seemed to subscribe to a similar line of thought, as his entire body acted as a hummingbird, all small jolts and movements, never stilling.

Jughead’s hand moved towards hers and immediately retracted, as he scanned the faces that, while not overhearing their conversation, were watching with intense interest. “Did your father say anything to you that would hint at any greater scheme?”

Shaking her head, Betty replied, “Nothing really, he was in such a hurry Jughead, and he was speaking strangely…” Betty trailed off, still feeling the affects of her father’s words to her. She was struck and unnerved by her father’s declaration towards her, but as she always longed to hear those words stated so meaningfully from him, her heart was not impatient to share such a victory.

“What did he say Betts?” Jughead’s voice was kind and soft as Betty stared at her shoes, attempting to generate the courage to ignore that sweet sound.

“Betts,” losing the battle to touch her, Jughead curled his index finger and placed it below her chin, applying soft pressure to move her head to face his. His hand did not linger, but the gasps that breathed around them declared that the action had not gone unnoticed. At the moment, Jughead had no concern for gossip as his gaze stayed locked upon Betty. “Tell me.”

“He told me to remember that he loves me.” Jughead tilted his head to the side in confusion, not understanding how such a normal statement could inspire such a reaction. Feeling ashamed, Betty’s eyes returned to her dusty shoes as she responded, “It is not something he says...usually...not that I do not know that he loves me...well I suppose sometimes I do not always know…” As tears threatened to pool in her eyes, Betty ended her ramble to compose herself. A few too many moments passed without comment from Jughead, as Betty looked up to confirm if he was still there. She could not be sure, but it appeared as if Jughead had moved slightly closer to Betty, and his face looked pained as he searched for the correct response. That at least Betty could save him from.

“You do not have to comfort me, Jug. I am fine.” She formed a soft smile to reaffirm that statement.

Jughead’s fidgeting movements had intensified, and his fingers fluttered, as if at war with himself. “Betty, you should never have to doubt that you are loved.” His voice escaped from his body half strangled with emotion. He looked as if he wanted to say more, their audience be damned, when a clearing of the throat from behind Jughead broke their intense exchange.

“Apologies, my lord,” the impossibly tall Serpent Betty recognized from the Serpent’s arrival spoke softly but firmly. After addressing Jughead, Betty was surprised that he turned to her with a slight bow and greeted her, “My lady,” with eyes that were so kind, she was too lost in them to respond before he returned his attention to his prince. “King Frederick wishes to speak with you, he is hoping to employ a few Serpents to dispatch some communication locally.”

Jughead scoffed, annoyed, “That seems oddly presumptuous of him.”

The tall man shrugged, his eyes flitting briefly to Betty, “Topaz volunteered, must have given him the notion.”

“Fine, I will be there momentarily,” Jughead meant it to be a dismissal, but the tall man stayed where he was, and leveled another bow towards Betty, “Good day m’lady.”

“Now, Pea.” Jughead’s voice was hard and firm as “Pea” made his way back to the king. Betty was smirking as Jughead turned to face her.

“Pea?”

“Sweet Pea, actually,” Betty’s eyebrows raised sharply, “An adopted moniker.” Jughead looked agitated and rushed as he continued. “Meet me in our study at eleven bells?”

Betty let out a humourless laugh as she gestured around her, “If I can escape this spectacle, of course.”

Jughead smiled in such a way that Betty’s heart changed its beat, “I will come rescue you if necessary.” Leaving her with one final soft grin,  Jughead turned and made his way over to Fred, and Betty braced herself for the onslaught of nosy townspeople to descend and pepper her with endless questions. Luckily, Veronica and Kevin were waiting patiently nearby for her to finish her conversation with Jughead and only two breaths had passed before they swanned in, each grabbing an arm of Betty’s and steering her towards the food that had been set out for the impromptu morning meal.

The two of them were full of teasing, but Betty was endlessly grateful for them. They tactfully dismissed unneeded questions from some of the more brazen gossipers, and answered some of the more basic of queries for her, as if they were her personal guard. 

Betty’s gaze was constantly being stolen by Jughead’s tightly wound figure. After several minutes Jughead left the hall with the other Serpents, and Betty had to remind herself that she would see him soon.

However, if Betty had known the chaos that was about to descend on River Castle, she would have chased after him and begged him to rescue her in earnest.

***

“I meant no harm in it Jug, there is no need to keep me under persistent watch,” Sweet Pea was talking directly to Jughead’s back, who refused to meet eye contact with his friend and typically favorite knight.

“There is no sinister motive at play here Pea, I need at least one Serpent to stay at River Castle should something happen. You are that Serpent,” Jughead stated, finally turning to face his tall friend, who was looking at him with obvious suspicion.

“I could be of more use elsewhere, you know that Jug,” Jughead raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Sweet Pea, who, though annoyed added a “Sir,” to appease Jughead.

The prince knew this to be a petty spat, but it gave him a small sense of relief to torture the man who, in his estimation, had so easily and openly flirted with the newly appointed Lady Cooper.

Lady Cooper.

The ramifications and consequence of the new appointment that Betty now found herself in were slowly coming into reality in Jughead’s mind. She was an heir to an estate, and an endlessly wealthy one at that. Before, when she only had a large, but singular dowry to bring to a marriage, the suitors were almost literally falling on top of the other to woo her. Now, with an infinite income, the men would come from all over the world to court her. It had put Jughead in a foul mood, a mood he was pointing towards Sweet Pea, possibly unfairly.

This mood and this problem were easier to ponder than the other two issues at the forefront of his brain. First, how to support Betty through this change. It caused him physical pain to see her in such turmoil and the words to soothe her and assist her in the days to come refused to enter his brain. The other issue Jughead only acknowledged in passing, refusing to put any thought into it until he could have a proper conversation with Betty, was how this development changed his feelings towards her. The change being, a lack thereof. Jughead wanted Betty as much now as he did before her upgraded inheritance, and any thoughts dedicated to such dangerous desires must be staunched until said conversation with the lady.

“Sir, we should return to the hall, sustenance should be awaiting us.” Sweet Pea and Jug had been at the stables sending off the rest of the Serpents on the communication assignments, and the two of them were the only ones of their crew that remained.

“Staunch your eagerness, Pea.” The pair were close to the hall when a commotion drew their attention behind them. The constable and two River Kingdom guards were flanking a man-boy of indiscriminate age who looked on the precipice of either fainting or vomiting. Or a combination of both afflictions. 

“Ah, good, Prince Forsythe, I was hoping to encounter you. Are the king and his stewards still occupying the main hall? There has been a development in the investigation. A substantial one.” Constable Keller looked as if someone had left an entire cart of currency on his front step, his smile could barely be contained on his typically tight face.

Jughead was immediately suspicious, but needing the information replied, “Everyone is still in the main hall, care to brief me before any grand declaration?”

“You are here until the investigation has reached a logical conclusion and it seems we have finally reached that acme. Come, this should take only several minutes time.” Jughead, the small group led by the sheriff, and Sweet Pea had been walking in tandem before the sheriff’s statement, which caused enough shock in Jughead for him to lag behind, Sweet Pea by his side.

“Feeling well, sir?” Sweet Pea, feeling at odds with his Prince, was overly attentive, but Jughead only had focus and unease for whatever the Constable was about to announce to the hall. Quickly regaining his bearings, he quickened his pace to enter the hall, observing the Constable in conversation with the King, who had paled at whatever information Keller was choosing to impart to him.

Jughead wanted to look for Betty, but he could not move his body or his eyes, his attention was permanently tied to the Constable, who presently brought the young man forward to the King, whose posture changed as he listened to what the young man had to say. The Contable looked smug and eager, watching the exchange with delighted victory in his eyes. The King dismissed the boy, and took a few moments to collect himself before moving toward the front of the dias, and clearing his throat to gain attention of the hall. The movement was unneeded, everyone was already watching their monarch intensely.

“Thank you all for joining in the morning meal in celebration of the new Lady Cooper, and I apologize for it to end so soon, but the kingdom’s business never sleeps. The hall is adjourned, thank you all and good day.”

Some tired chants of “long live the King” were dampened by seven morning bells signalling the arrival of a new day, a day Jughead was now realizing would be long and horribly significant. 

Only moments after the king made his announcement a guard materialized at his side. “Sir, the king requests your presence in a private conference. Please follow me.” No further encouragement was needed as he nodded to Sweet Pea, already following in his Prince’s stride. As they made their way towards one of the large anterooms attached to the hall, Jughead scanned the crowd for Betty, fighting alarm as he failed to find her in the diminishing crowd.

His alarm was brief, but his relief was profound as he entered the room finding Betty already present, flanked by Veronica and Kevin, who were both stone-faced and unreadable. Their faces were a stark contrast to the blonde between them, whose eyes were distant as her teeth worried her lower lip to the point of raw redness. Her focus returned as her gaze found Jughead, and while she made a quick forward movement in his direction, as if to seek his embrace, she checked herself just in time, but not without gaining the curious interest of her guarding friends. 

Jughead contemplating reaching out and wrapping her in his arms, regardless of appropriateness, when Archie entered the room, making such an action impossible.

“What is going on Arch, who was the boy?” Archie opened his mouth to speak, but it was not his voice that gave an answer, it was Betty’s, her voice surprisingly clear given the stress of the morning.

“His name is Dilton Doiley, he works on my estate. He was present the night of the…incident.” Jughead remembered speaking to the boy, but had not recognized him, in the scared, pale state that he was. During that initial meeting with him, Doiley stated that he had seen two figures leave through Polly’s bedroom window and flee after throwing a torch in the main level of the manor. His statement was consistent with the documents that both Betty and the Constable had given him. Jughead found it highly suspicious for him to change his story now, which could be the only explanation for the conversation that just unfolded.

Archie addressed the room, “My father said he would be here momentarily, he needed to send word to the royal guard first.” The magnitude of the statement hung heavy over the room, suffocating any possible conversation.

Several minutes later the King, several guards, the Constable, and an even more terrified looking Doiley entered the room, already deep in an argument.

“-should have announced to hall, we need as many eyes as possible.” The Constable had lost some of his smugness now, and had replaced it with indignant rage. 

“Thomas, that is enough, my decision was made and it was the correct one.” The King responded with a confidence that faltered slightly as he took survey of the room. With one slow blink and a deep breath the King spoke bluntly without preamble, “Dilton Doiley has come forward accusing Duke Hal Cooper as the true murderer of Prince Jason Blossom,” there was a sharp gasp from behind Jughead which he knew to be Betty, but he forced himself to remain fixed on Fred, if he chanced even a fleeting glance towards Betty, his focus would surely split. 

“I have sent the remainder of the guard out looking for him, but as all the Riders, Serpents and part of the guard are embarking on communication assignments, our force is rather diminished.” 

“It is clearly premeditated, he wanted the force diminished so he could escape, why else call a meeting so early in the morning. He knew Doiley had fled the estate.” The Constable was speaking as if they were wrapping up a mystery novel, all plot points led to his own personal conclusion. Unfortunately, Jughead had to admit, in this instance he may have a point. Given Hal’s early morning announcement and expedient departure, the Constable’s theory held some sense. What was failing logical tests in his mind was the witness who stood before him.

“But why change your story Dilton? You have told numerous people a very different and very consistent story.” Jughead asked, increasingly convinced something more conspiratorial was at play. Jughead had talked to countless witnesses over the years and those that were lying were rarely uniform about it. The root story remained the same, sure, but more details would be added to increase verisimilitude, which in practice had the opposite effect. Dilton’s story was sparse but unchanging, so much so that Jughead never doubted its veracity.

“Doiley stated…” the Constable began, but Jughead had no patience for whatever bluster the man was about to breathe his way.

“I would prefer to hear directly from the witness.” Jughead was sharp, and he could feel Kevin’s corresponding glare on his back, but this was too important to put emphasis on politeness.

Dilton’s eyes glanced about the room, but he was clearly avoiding looking in Betty’s general direction.

“The Duke knew that I saw him, and he threatened me, so I fabricated the story of seeing two figures...that is what Ethel and Pop said, so it seemed believable. What I actually saw through the window, lit by torchlight was the Duke stabbing Prince Jason.” It was methodical and practiced, and Jughead knew without question or hesitation that he was lying. Doiley could meet no one’s eyes and he was specific on seeing Hal but hazy on everything else. Given his state of terror he guessed he was being threatened.

Who was running this scheme?

“How do you explain both Ethel and Pop seeing two figures sneaking into the manor?” This voice came from Betty, shocking the entire room into silence. Although filled with trepidation before the news was delivered to the room, Betty’s attitude was now far from timid. “And why would my sister, whose love had died in her arms, lie for our father?”

“Your sister was stabbed. Traumatized. She could be misremembering, or perhaps Hal threatened her, which is why you are now Lady Cooper and your sister is locked in a convent for the rest of her life. As for Ethel and Pops, the man is old and Ethel herself is hard of vision. It was dark.” The Constable waved his hand insultingly and dismissively through the air. He was clearly satisfied with the illogical but firm solution delivered to him, and was set on not allowing anyone to disrupt this easy end to an otherwise tumultuous investigation.

“So when three separate people remember two assassins it’s because of trauma, old age and darkness, but when one clearly terrified boy completely changes his testimony, suddenly there is clear torchlight and unmistakable vision?” Betty said none of this with anger or accusation, simply calm investigative logic, and Jughead was enraptured by her control.

“Your father could have threatened the others! Or he could have had an accomplice Dilton could not see in the shadows. Frankly, I am not sure his daughter, who has freshly become his heir should be giving any input in the manner. You are clearly biased!” He pointed at her while clearly pleading to the King to dismiss these questions, a ploy Jughead was more than willing to destroy.

“Oh, I assure you Constable, I am seeking the answers for those very same questions.” Jughead’s voice was not quite as calm as Betty’s, but the thankful smile she gave him was enough to calm some of his ire.

Constable Keller’s calm was clearly being threatened if the shade of red displayed on his face was any indication, but before he could yell any further, Fred interrupted with a practiced kingly calm and authority.

“Enough. The young man’s change in story is suspicious, but as is Hal Cooper’s sudden departure and change in succession. No conclusions can or should be drawn until he can be located and questioned in person. Lady Cooper, until your father is found or that it has been confirmed that your father has fled, you are to be guarded.” Feeling the smug look rebloom on the Constable’s face he added, “To assure the foolish of your obvious innocence.” The Constable’s face fell so quickly, Jughead was worried he might injure himself.

Softer than before, but still full of confidence, Betty said from her corner, still being guarded by an unflinching Veronica and a conflicted Kevin, “You should send someone to the cottage on the edge of our estate, towards the Forest Kingdom.” The whole room looked at her questionably, as some shyness returned to Betty’s demeanor. “He stayed there sometimes, when he and my mother quarrelled.”

Knowing he would not be permitted to stay with Betty, and desperate to feel useful, Jughead quickly volunteered, “The rest of the guard is already out, I will go and search the cottage.”

“I will accompany him,” Jughead was displeased to hear the voice of his friend from behind him. He turned to argue, but Archie’s face was set.

“Two princes should not set after a suspected murderer,” the Constable added, for the first time voicing something reasonable.

“I will assist, give my life for either prince if necessary,” Sweet Pea boasted, putting on a bravado that Jughead knew was an unnecessary show. Regardless, Sweet Pea was an excellent fighter, and should trouble arise, he would feel more comfortable with the knight by his side.

“Go, whether you find the Duke or no, stop by the his manor and bring back with you the estate supervisor, and any other foremen he deems necessary. We will convene a council at three bells to discuss the future and the ramifications this accusation will have on the Cooper duchy.” The King gave out his orders succinctly and without emotion, but the weight of the implication hung heavy in the air. A council meant possible dissolution of the duchy, and the loss of the empire and wealth that Betty had just inherited. 

The King, the Constable, and Doiley all left the room, but not before the King stationed two guards outside the door. At least Betty would be granted some privacy. Kevin also excused himself after some whispered words to Betty, whose only response was a kiss on his cheek and an understanding smile. 

“Veronica, I will escort you back to your room before we embark,” Archie voiced from the doorway, looking pleadingly at his lady. Veronica, however, looked positively affronted. 

“I am not leaving Betty, you ponce.” Betty quickly grabbed her friend’s hand and whispered a private message that ignited a smirk on Veronica’s lips that was so brief and slight it could have been a trick in the early dawn light. 

As if she had not just insulted him, Veronica smiled a sickly sweet grin towards the ginger prince. “Archibald, you can escort me to get us water and sustenance, however.” Moving towards the door she grabbed Archibald’s arm and jerked him aggressively forward before he could counter.

The only souls remaining in the room were Betty, Jughead and Sweet Pea, the latter of which was quickly feeling the unwantedness of his presence. 

“I shall be in the...uh…” Sweet Pea’s entire face lit in an epiphany, “Stables! Yes the stables, preparing the horses for our journey.”

As soon as Sweet Pea departed, Betty’s entire brave facade started to crumble, “Ju-Jug…” Jughead did not wait for her to say more, instead reaching her in two strides and pulling her into an embrace, one that she tightly returned. Jughead had hoped that the first time Betty was in his arms it would be under different circumstances, but knowing this was giving Betty comfort made the moment entirely worthwhile. As Betty clung to him he briefly noted how perfectly she fit into his arms, and how soft her hair was below his cheek.

After several moments, Betty looked back, still looking worn, but free of any impending tears, “Jughead it has not even chimed eight bells, how has the world already upended itself?”

“To think, I thought it might have been a dull day. I was prepared to ask Sweet Pea to take up being a jester for my entertainment” his poor attempt at humour inspired a small but genuine laugh from Betty, and the softness of it caused his chest to constrict.

“I might have the shortest tenure of any heir in the entirety of the River Kingdom.” She gave a chuckle meant to lighten the pall in the room, but she did not have enough heart for the bluff to hold weight. Jughead could, however, feel the stress of the impossibly long morning and tension of the forthcoming day tense in every syllable. 

“Betty, your future is not being decided today.” Jughead was rubbing her back, slowly working the tension she was holding there, “Besides I did not ask you to accompany me to the orchards because you were the daughter of a Duke.” Betty’s eyes snapped to him is surprise, and Jughead immediately feared the statement had been too presumptuous. But Betty’s eyes only softened as she pulled back to look at his face. Not yet ready to expound on his feelings, he switched his reassurances.

“We will find your father. Doiley is lying, we both know this.” And that was true, but Betty countered with the other fact both were certain was just as factual.

“My father is hiding something too.”

Instead of responding with words he drew Betty back in close to his body, both to comfort her, and selfishly, to be close to her. Veronica announced her and Archie’s imminent arrival by carrying on an overly loud conversation out in the hallway, signalling the end of their time alone.

“Your accomplice is back with my friend, and we need to leave soon so we have time to both find your father and wrangle half your staff.” Betty gave him a half hearted slap, and even a faux act of violence that physically touched him was something to relish.

Betty then stole Jughead’s focus by taking his face in her hands, though such an action was unnecessary. Her simple existence was enough for his attention.

“Be safe, Jughead.”

“The promise of coming back to you is all I need for motivation.” Jughead brought her close, his forehead against hers for the span of two breaths before they parted, knowing that Veronica and Archie were near.

At a now respectable distance, Betty relayed the most reliable way to reach the cottage in question, while failing to resist touching Jughead’s hands. The future rulers of the River Kingdom entered the room, and the new heir of the Cooper duchy and heir to the Serpent throne hesitantly parted.

As Jughead left the room, regardless of all else that had passed, all he could consider was how much he would endure, how greatly he would persevere, to find himself again by Lady Elizabeth’s side.

***

Jughead had never for one moment considered physical violence as a solution to personal disagreements, but Jughead found himself giving such a solution more thought as the trio of unlikely companions made their way towards the cottage they suspected housed a confirmed fugitive and accused murderer. 

Pea and Arch were currently debating which type of feather was most suited for fletching arrows, a topic Jughead could feasibly participate in, but as it had been in progress for well over an hour, and the conversation itself was mere prattle to pass the time, it had become torturous. Briefly, Jughead considered falling from his horse and letting it trample him to escape the droning, but he managed to refrain from the dramatics long enough to acknowledge this mundane topic was safer than anything else they could discuss. Besides, as the cottage became visible in the distance, the conversation faded and gave way to tense silence.

The building was located on the edge of the Cooper’s vast holdings, so by the time they had reached the building, it just past mid-morning. The day was an odds with events occuring inside it. The air, though crisp was clear and clean. The sun shone just brightly enough to warm them, cutting through the brisk morning, but the heat was not enough to chase the chill in their veins as they dismounted their horses and entered the building slowly, Archie and Jughead gripping their still sheathed swords while Sweet Pea notched a feather in his bow.  They entered the small space which was rather quaint for a lodging owned by the Coopers. The structure had only three rooms, and most of the building was the open sitting area where the three men entered. 

There was a sudden moan from one of the bedrooms as the trio snapped towards the door, Sweet Pea startled enough to unleash his arrow toward the opposite wall barely missing Jughead’s ear. Archie however looked impressed as he whispered, “Goose feathers really do fly straighter than turkey.” Jughead stared disbelieving at both of them holding his hand out and glaring at the fools before him, wordlessly asking if they could collect themselves before confronting the source of the noise. Archie silently and slowly removed his sword while nodding his readiness at Jughead. To Jughead’s split discomfort and relief, Sweet Pea notched another arrow, and took position behind him. Jughead also unsheathed his sword as he stepped towards the threshold of the offending chamber. 

Upon entry, Jughead immediately dropped his defensive stance and quickly sheathed his sword upon seeing the four prone figures of the guards, that just hours before had accompanied the Duke to the River Castle. One of them was stirring and emitting the low moans and Jughead stooped to turn him to his side. Jughead sent Sweet Pea out to fetch water as Archie checked the other men. Through a combination of icy water and gentle rousing; Jughead, Archie and Sweet Pea managed to get the guards into at least some base state of consciousness.

The guard who had first caught their attention, Peters, had gathered most of his wits and seemed willing to speak for the group. Jughead and Archie did not reveal their reasons for seeking their party, but Peters was more than willing to share his recollections with prodding. He seemed to want to piece together how he and guards found themselves in their predicament as greatly as the Princes. Apparently the Duke claimed an issue on one of the far lots of their holdings but had wanted to stop for rest before moving forward. He remembered the water tasting strangely, but attributed the taste to the rarely used well. His next conscious memory was being roused by Jughead, now with a raging headache. An array of nods from his companions corroborated his account. Feeling confident in their ignorance, Jughead relayed the accusation that Dilton Doiley lodged against the duke, to the stunned reception of the men before him.

“Where is Hal headed?” Archie asked from his corner of the room, for the most part, he let Jughead ask the questions, knowing one source of authority was more effective than two.

Peters just gave a small chuckle, “I assume the Duke drugged us precisely so we could not answer that question.” After he said that though, he paused, face drawn in concentration, “Approximately what bell change have we reached?” The nearest bell tower would be faint, but Jughead estimated they would be nearing eleven bells soon, and he communicated as much.

Peters shook his head, “We reached here just after eight bells, that would give him more than enough time to reach Fisher’s Port.”

That was the last thing that Jughead wished to hear. That particular port was massive and just inside the Serpent Kingdom boundary. From there Hal could be on a ship bound for the most remote of locations. Given the evidence, that was most likely his plan.

Hal Cooper had escaped.

The next few hours passed industriously and and mindlessly for Jughead. The guard insisted on returning with them to the River Castle to be present at the impending council. Little resististance was given to the suggestion, as the Princes could not very well just leave them there, and the men would be useful as witnesses to Hal’s departure and guides to the main manor.

Midday when they reached the manor, Pop Tate, the main supervisor of the estate and four other senior members of the estate staff were waiting for them, informed as they were by a spare stable boy, that such a council was imminent. The last few hours of focused tasks had been distracting Jughead, but now that the River Castle was again in view and the council to determine Betty’s fate was near, his nerves started to perk, one by one. A mood deeply aggravated by Archie’s attempts at conversation.

“Jughead, do you think she will lose the estate? Betty?” Archie and he were leading the cavalcade given their noble status, and the fracture in their friendship had never been as deeply felt as it was during the short ride up the hill to the castle. Archie was simply giving voice to the thoughts that were already commanding Jughead’s thoughts, but hearing it come from Archie after all the contention stoked annoyance in Jughead.

“Hoping loss of fortune will ebb the stream of oncoming suitors?” It was petty statement, but truly felt.

Archie grimaced, and bit back his initial reply. After a moment to compose himself, looking to the sky for inspiration replied, “Jughead, this quarrel has endured long enough, I am worried for Betty, that was all I was trying to communicate. As I told Veronica, I have abandoned any romantic pursuit of Betty.”

“She is just not allowed to have any romantic pursuits of her own.”

Archie shook his head so sharply he almost fell from the horse, “Jughead, that is not what I want.”

“I am sorry I misspoke, you simply do not wish her to pursue me.” Jughead was baiting Archie, intensified by his increased worry for Betty. 

“Are you?” Archie spoke so softly Jughead was not completely sure he had spoken at all until he looked towards the ginger in question, patiently waiting for a response. As clarification he added, “Pursuing a relationship with her?”

“I do not wish to discuss that with you, Arch.” Particularly not before he had a conversation with Betty, but she had more pressing concerns at the moment than the state of his feelings. Jughead pulled forward slightly, purposefully making it too awkward to continue carrying on a conversation with Archie. Under less stressful circumstances, Jughead would keenly feel the distance between him and his best friend. They were also due a serious conversation, but it too would have to wait. 

The clock struck two bells as they mounted the steps of the castle, greeted by a replenished guard free from their search, and the stable boys returned from their impromptu errands. Although an hour removed from the council, by the time their entire troupe dismounted their horses and had servants dispatched to ready rooms for the evening, if necessary, they were well overdue to be present at the chambers. 

After Jughead sent Sweet Pea on watch duty, a member of the castle staff escorted the entire party to a chamber that Jughead had not entered in many years, and the fact it was being used for this occasion gave both Archie and Jughead pause. 

It was the war room.

There was no reason for the assembled lords and ladies to recognize the room as such, but the significance was not lost on Jughead nor Archie. 

Or on Betty it seemed. 

On instinct, Jughead’s eyes searched for amongst the assembled nobility and he found her easily. Veronica had not left her side and was currently staring down any wayward noble person who approached Betty for conversation. Betty, for her part was lost in thought, again, worrying her lower lip so aggressively, Jughead was concerned for its safety. He was about to wander her way when the King intercepted him and Archie.

“I understand that your presence without the Duke indicates that your trip was not a fruitful one.” Fred looked disappointed, but made a motion to his guard to start moving the assembled council to their respective seats to begin the proceedings.

“Not entirely,” Archie countered, as they too began moving to their own designated seats. “We know that Hal’s escape was premeditated, and that he left from Fisher’s Port.”

“Does not alter the very real issue of his departure, and the assumptions one can make for its occurrence,” Jughead muttered as he watched Betty, Veronica, and the members of her staff move to seats directly across the table in front of him. She was speaking animatedly with Peters and Pop Tate, no doubt readying themselves for the makeshift trial about to take place. She was feet away from him and yet so distant, he stared steadfastly at her, willing her to look at him, acknowledge his presence. 

For her to know that he stood by her, regardless of outcome.

She continued her rapid exchange with the men and women around her, and Jughead was about to relieve himself from the torture of her inattention when the brunette sitting beside Betty caught his eye, as she was staring curiously in his direction. He suspected she had been observing him for some time, as her eyebrow and corner of her mouth raised jointly in a knowing expression. 

All conversation ceased as the King brought the council to order, recapping the events of the day, and the absent status of Duke Harold Cooper. The assorted nobles all nodded along, clearly already briefed on the base details of the situation.

“As it is stated in our laws, and as the Duke cannot stand trial, we are here to discuss the retrieval effort, the ongoing investigation into the death of Jason Blossom, and the status of the Cooper duchy. This is considered formal and official, and all decisions made here will be final.” The king indicated the members of the Hall of Records, who had remained in the castle since the early morning. “Before we begin, I would like us to take roll, for the record.”

The King, Archie, and Jughead were counted first, followed by Betty and her staff, which allowed him ample time to consider Betty as the twenty or so lords and ladies were counted as present. He was certain now, that Betty was avoiding eye contact, and it was starting to make Jughead feel physically ill, worried as to what could cause such a change in behavior.

After those present were accounted for by the stewards, quills moving in practiced flurry, the King again stood and addressed the waiting nobility. “First we must discuss a strategy to recoup the Duke, we were made aware of his departure from Fisher’s Port early this morning. I suggest a focused guard of four knights, dedicated to finding the Duke and bringing him hence to face the accusation. Until that time, the investigation into the death of Jason Blossom must remain unsolved. Thoughts from the council?”

A small Viscountess voiced timidly from the corner, “Should the Blossoms be in attendance to determine such a decision?”

The Constable, desperate to remain authoritative, responded, “The crime occurred on River Kingdom land, so all decisions regarding the investigation are decided locally. The Forest Kingdom was informed of these crimes and is unable to be present.” Jughead rolled his eyes. That may be true, but the members of the Forest Kingdom would not have been able to be present on such short a time frame. 

The answer seemed enough for the Viscountess and the rest of the council though, for the motion for both passed without much fanfare or discussion. The increased tension in the room, however, indicated that those were not the issues most anticipated for discussion.

King Andrews took a deep steadying breath as if anticipating the oncoming predators, “Then we move to our final matter, that of how to handle the Cooper estate and holding.”

The entire room erupted in arguments and queries, with some more eager nobles standing up as if to amplify their shouted appeals. 

“Is the change of succession even legal?”

“Should Harold Cooper even keep the land if he has fled the kingdom?”

“No change should be made until he has stood trial.”

“The estate is too grand, it should be split between the neighboring estates.”

“Should the Duchess not be present to answer for her husband’s crimes?”

“SILENCE!” The king erupted in an uncharacteristic scolding. “Enough. I believe through the babble I have heard a few legitimate concerns I will answer now, and if then you still desire to offer value to the discussion you may alert me, and only then will I allow you to proceed. Understood?” Most of the lords and ladies hung their heads in shame while others offered timid nods of understanding. “Now, first and foremost, there are no laws or governance surrounding stripping or reallocating property upon committing a crime, though there has been precedent of doing so in the past. I have verified with the stewards that the change of succession is, in fact, legitimate. Duchess Cooper, of course, is the owner of the estate in her husband’s absence with Lady Elizabeth Cooper as the intended heir. The Duchess was contacted earlier today and verified the legitimacy of the claim as well as her trust in Betty to represent the Coopers at this council, along with her staff of course.” As soon as the King was finished speaking a thin sickly looking man stood, indicating his desire to speak. The king nodded tersely as an indicator for him to continue.

“I am Earl Benjamin Greensborn, and I speak for Earl Jens Pedersen and Countess Geraldine Grundy. We propose splitting the Cooper duchy among the neighboring estates. Over the past several months, the manor has brought nothing but scandal do this kingdom and still enjoys unparalleled wealth. It is time to hold the estate accountable and return the wealth to the rest of the kingdom.” He then seated himself as if the manner was closed, and again Jughead found Betty. She looked so defeated.

A tall elegant looking woman stood, and as Betty glanced at her, she straightened her spine and attempted to relieve tension from her mouth to appear impassive, steeling herself for more attacks.

“The neighboring estates belong to the three conspirators yonder, thus their suggestions are entirely self-serving. The marred reputation of the manor is because of Harold Cooper and Jason Blossom’s killer, whoever they me be, and any punishment should fall solely to them. The Duke’s wife and his daughter have not committed any crime, so I believe this council is wholly unnecessary.”

Betty looked shocked, but Pop Tate behind her calmly stood, and started speaking as soon as the King acknowledged him. “Thank you, Lucille,” the elegant woman blushed in his direction, “We also were surprised that this question was being raised by the council. The Duchess and the Lady are innocent of any crime, and I feel it is worth restating, so is the Duke for all the evidence presented.”

Without decorum, the Constable interrupted, “He fled the kingdom! Not the act of an innocent man.”

Pop Tate seemed undeterred as he continued, “It was the act of a coward, innocent or no.” The insult to his employer did not rattle the rest of the staff as he continued, “As a consideration to the ludicrous suggestion outlined by the Earl, I have but just one thought to add, if the estate is taken from Alice and Elizabeth Cooper, the entire staff of Cooper holdings will abandon the duchy.” The rest of the assembled staff nodded in solidarity, and Betty did her best to look as if this protest was entirely planned. Jughead, however, could see the tears welling in her eyes, touched by her staff’s loyalty.

“How will the child eventually run the estate? She has not been raised for the position, and her father has left, presumably never to return,” a stout woman with a snubbed nose growled from the corner, her scratchy voice lending her tone to permanent grumpiness.

Fred, peered into the back of the room near the entrance and spotted someone who wished to speak, he nodded for them to continue, and Jughead saw a man step forward from the shadows of the room, his entrance punctuated by a small gasp from Betty.

Getting a better glance at him he noticed the man was all sternness and rigidity. His handsome face was carefully formed into a critical mask that gave him an intimidating appearance accentuated by his tight, straight posture. There was a warmness to his eyes though, and a softness to his gaze that was directed toward the beautiful blonde across from Jughead.

“Apologies for my tardiness, although those gathered know me, for the record,” he nodded towards the record hall stewards, “I am Earl Floyd Clayton, father to the young lady’s former fiance, Charles Clayton.” The entire room fell into a tense silence, waiting for the man to continue his speech, all unsure of the content of a such a message, “I have spent considerable time with both the Duchess and Lady Cooper, and I assure you the estate is in entirely capable hands, probably more so than it was with the Duke.”

Murmurs of agreement rushed through the room as the man took a deep breath to steady his emotion for the next part of the statement. “If a mentor is required to make the council feel more steady about the productivity of the estate, let me assure you that though it is not necessary, I will happily volunteer for such a role. Lady Cooper was intended to become my daughter, and from my perspective and understanding she is, and I will treat the young lady as such.” The words were said with a careful mix of emotion and severity, enough so that all those gathered understood their seriousness. Jughead’s gaze was only for Betty, who was staring with wonder at the Earl. “I move to end this council, with full understanding and acceptance of the new Lady Cooper.”

“Seconded, the lady is more than capable of the position, as is her mother. The estate is in good hands.” The Marquis Sonnegard sounded from his seat, echoing a whispered chorus of agreement through the hall, some reluctant, some fervent, but all accepting of the decree laid forth.

King Andrews, with a noted relief to his voice, passed the motion and dismissed the hall, spurning the crowd into a slow moving adjournment. Betty had resumed her discussion with the members of the Cooper estate as they swiftly removed themselves from the room and their victory. Jughead dodging Lords and Ladies eager to introduce themselves to the foreign prince,  used every ounce of agility he possessed to follow the group out into the hall.

Entering the corridor, he observed the Cooper party moving towards the path to the main entrance of the castle, and in a panic called out, “Be- Lady Cooper!”

Betty turned and upon seeing Jughead, swiftly made her way towards him, some of her guard followed, ensuring their conversation would be chaperoned.

“Lady Cooper.” Jughead suddenly was at a loss of what to say could only ask, “Are you well, my lady?”

Betty looked exhausted, but calm as she replied, “I shall be, your highness, thank you.” She was avoiding his eyes, and Jughead was worried as to what could possibly have caused this cataclysmic shift in regards to her manner.

“Where are you off to my lady?”

“To escort the staff back to the manor and see to some minor business at the estate, I shall return, but my stay at the castle must be nearing an end.” Her voice was tighter, and she had focused her gaze on a point just past Jughead’s left ear. 

“No.”

Betty’s eyes snapped to Jughead’s then, acutely aware of the new sharpness to his voice.

“Lady Elizabeth,” Jughead dropped his voice as low as possible to prevent his statement from being heard by the guard, “Do not part from this castle, from me. Not yet.” 

In an equally low voice Betty replied, “The Prince of the Serpents and the daughter of a now disgraced Duke make for odd companions. We have always been on borrowed time.” 

Just then, a deluge of nobility fell from the castle’s war room and Betty took the distraction as an opportunity to escape the conversation and exit swiftly with her staff, leaving a breathless Jughead behind.

***

On a normal day, Betty would feel comfortable boasting about her patience. Her temperament had always trended towards helping and waiting with calmness and kindness, and such a practices only yielded positive outcomes with those on the receiving end of those gifts, making it a reinforced habit.

On this day, however, Betty’s patience had absconded away with her nerves. Ever since Jughead’s departure to find her father, Betty’s sole comfort was the tight and steadfast grip of Veronica by her side, grounding her sanity. As they sat in the anteroom, that had been enough to create and uneasy sort of equilibrium, a bearable waiting state. Unfortunately, such a peaceful hold had been temporary.  Mid morning, they were relocated into what Betty uneasily recognized as the war room, adorned as it was with mahogany wood and it’s heavy cabinet filled with maps and historic campaigns. Although she had no reason to know the purpose of such a room, Betty’s face and body language must have hinted to its dark history, as Veronica’s grip tightened on her hand.

The two spoke little. Betty was not sure she could carry on a conversation, and Veronica was completely letting Betty steer the situation, if only to give her the illusion of control. Veronica only spoke when she needed to shoo away interlopers hoping to talk to the new heiress, or shake her nerve. But the longer that Jughead was gone, and the more members of nobility that entered the war room, the more untenable the silence. Perhaps if she was engaged in conversation, she could forget about the absence of her silver-crowned prince.

“V?”

“Yes, B?”

“I need you to distract me, I cannot be alone with my thoughts any longer.” Betty’s voice was tight and slightly scratchy from lack of use, and Veronica signaled for some water as she fulfilled Betty’s request.

“Tell, me Betty, now that you are to be heir, what changes do you wish to make on the estate?” Veronica spoke as if they had been speaking casually all morning, and Betty would have hugged her with relief if there were not others present. Veronica’s question was not the first time Betty had occasion to ponder the downfalls of the estate, and the ways to both make the duchy more profitable while assisting the kingdoms both River and Allied. Betty mindlessly responded, letting the easy practiced response tame her nerves, as talk of the duchy was prone to do. Over several minutes though, these ideas only grew the nerves in her stomach. Before, such talk contained idle wishes, that perhaps one day Betty could persuade Polly and her husband to enact. Now, however, her ideas were truths and promises breathed into life, and the overwhelming sensation returned to Betty, and she found herself out of breath.

Without too much of a reaction Veronica shifted the conversation, “Will you return home sooner than anticipated? Selfishly I hope you will stay for the wedding.” Veronica said it lightly, teasingly, but it had an effect on Betty that she was desperate to hide from her friend.

Time. The time she so desperately wanted with Jughead was disappearing. With her father at the duchy, her stay at the castle was indeterminate, a promise similarly given by  Jug. But now, she could not prolong her stay in the castle and leave the duchy with no Cooper in residence, particularly as her mother correctly refused to leave Polly’s side. Even if she could remain at the castle for months, her fate and future was now tied permanently to the Cooper duchy, here. In the River Kingdom.

A wave a nausea hit Betty, and before Veronica could clue into what was happening, Betty fled into the corridor, leaping to a glassless window to gulp down the cool autumn air, hoping it would relieve her sudden anxiety.

Betty had tried to avoid her wants for the future, believing that her refusal to acknowledge what she wanted, who she wanted, would mean that she could remain unaffected if such hopes and wishes were not to come true.

She was a fool, and she was already too far gone.

Veronica came out to confirm Betty was not ill, and Betty forced herself back into a numbing calm. Veronica changed subjects to more mundane topics that Betty was determined to speak to, anything to remove herself from returning to the pit of her fears. She also allowed herself to participate in small talk with the arriving lords and ladies, letting Veronica respond to some of the heavier queries, but letting the small talk and formal procedure her distract her.

The hours passed in such a manner, and Betty believed her emotions tamed, until Jughead walked into the room, flanked by senior members of her estate. Her responsibility and her desire, diametrically at odds with each other, juxtaposed in one tidy tableau. Her heart refused to beat when she looked at Jughead so she forced herself to avoid meeting his gaze, a gaze she felt almost constantly during the span of the excruciating council.

When Pop Tate defended herself and her mother however, a new emotion, one of the few she had yet to experience in the course of the morning, swelled in her chest. Pride.  In the midst of a familial betrayal, she was presented with unbounded and unquestioned faith in her, her abilities, and her strength. Strength Betty had little ability to believe in herself given the circumstances of her inheritance.

She needed that emotional uplift, particularly as a face she had not seen in over a year, revealed itself from the shadows and inflamed the scars of a heart barely healed. It took her several moments to recover from the shock of seeing Floyd Clayton, and to stop herself for looking for the familiar lines of Chuck in his father’s face.

She and the Earl had parted on well enough terms, and they still kept in consistent but infrequent contact. They verified their mutual lack of knowledge on the whereabouts of Chuck in each letter, followed by a warm account of their lives passed in the months prior. Betty’s worst instincts suspected he maintained the connection only so she would contact him if Chuck returned, and she gave into these instincts because a part of Betty could not understand how he could forgive her. She had stolen his son from him, albeit unintentionally, and it was an indefensible crime.

But now he stood in front of some of the most prominent noble men and women in the kingdom and he called her his daughter. Warmly defending her and washing Betty with the love she was desperate for, but missing from her own absent father.

Betty had run the gamut of an impressive array of emotions throughout the day, each as sharply felt as the last. Shock, anger, fear, sadness, hope, remorse, gratefulness. Each a needle prick on her skin, acutely felt and distinct from the other stinging emotions. Staring at the kind of eyes of Earl Clayton, one more emotion washed over all other sharply divided feelings, blurring them together and dulling them so she could only feel one sensation.

Guilt.

Guilt for forgetting her love, a love that still continued to protect and nourish her. Guilt for considering, even for a moment, abandoning her new responsibility to these people who loved and depended upon her, all in pursuit of her own selfish desires. Desires, that even faced with these unshakeable truths, refused to temper in its intensity, daring to burn brighter in spite of such obstacles. A fire intensified by a blue gaze that refused to leave her.

As the council mercifully drew to a close, Betty resolved to return with Pop Tate and the others to the duchy, if only for the remainder of the afternoon, to address any outstanding tasks her father left unfinished. The errand had the added benefit of her removing her from the castle, in hopes of taming her resolve.

She had not anticipated his pursuit and his confrontation in the hallway. She was not prepared to see him or discuss her turmoil with him, and in her discomfort told him that they, whatever that pronoun entailed, were on a limited timeline. She had let the dull throbbing of the ever present guilt deaden the pain, wrapping it around her in a poisonous embrace.

But now, having reached the duchy, all she could see all she could visualize was the crushing pain in Jughead’s eyes as she told him they were on borrowed time. His pain was felt by her as if it were her own, and she felt smothered by it.

“My lady, are you well?” Pop Tate and her were sitting in her father’s study looking over the daily delivery schedules and shipments. To Betty’s surprise there was not any item that needed an immediate decision, no worker in need of reprimand, no tenant late on their tax. The noble title, it seemed, was merely decorative, as most of the work was done with precision by the Cooper staff. 

Betty had offered to complete some of the housework in the manner, at the very least to make herself useful, and make the trip worthwhile. But as Pop told her, the manor was still uninhabitable, her father had been staying at his cottage, and had been scarcely seen over the previous month. The Duchess, was in constant communication with the manor, handling the few queries that Pop Tate could not handle himself, and staying abreast on the renovations of the manor. 

Looking back to Pop’s water eyes, Betty finally answered his query, “I hardly know, Pop, my thoughts and emotions cannot seem to align themselves into any semblance of coherency,” Betty chuckled continuing to lighten the mood by adding, “All the better you do not need my council, for a fear it would be hollow.”

Pop rubbed her shoulder in comfort, “I assure you, the estate does not need your supervision, it is not yours yet to burden yourself with, after all, but I was eager to have you come back and observe that for with those beautiful eyes of yours.”

Betty’s face pinched in confusion, “Why for, Pop?”

“Two purposes. First, my dear, you look positively torn in half from the events of the day, and I desired your company to assure you were well. We have missed you around the manor love, and I thought perhaps seeing it for yourself, and knowing it is self sufficient would help erase at least one of your worries,” Pop meant his words to be reassuring but they just prompted her to remember that look of pain on Jughead’s face, and of an action executed sooner than needed.

She had panicked, acted rashly, and now she did not even have the manor to distract her, as uninhabitable and self sustaining as it was.

She and Pop Tate talked of non-business subjects for another hour, as Betty was not yet prepared to go back to the castle, determined to tarry long enough to miss dinner, and, in consequence avoid facing Jughead for just a little longer. Pop, an accomplished cook in he own right, offered to prepare her a travelling woman’s meal, but Betty declined. She was not sure her nerves could handle any sustenance during her travels back.

During the short journey back to the castle, Betty could not prevent herself from pondering the last conversation she had with Jughead, specifically her last hateful statement. Even if said prematurely, the sentiment still stood true. Jughead and herself could not continue as they were in perpetuity, and she could not shake the certainty that Jughead wanted nothing more from her than a pretty girl with which to flirt, and a helpful mind primed to assist him in an investigation.

This was the thought she repeated to herself on an identical tread, in time to her walking pace.

Step. Jughead is just a flirt. Step. This was never going to end well. Step. You are only his distraction. Step.

By the time she got to the castle the sentiments had more dampened her mood than changed her mind by any real measure. 

The first reasonable thought Betty had over the last several hours was that she should cease any heavy thinking until tomorrow, or at least until Toni came back from the Forest Kingdom, bearing tidings and distractions from her friend. Upon entering the castle, she requested a supper be sent to her room, and on her way to her chambers, Betty designed a simple evening plan of eating and then escaping into a book. Something devoid of murder, romance, or intrigue. The history of the maple tree perhaps.

Alas such plans were never meant to be.

As Betty quietly entered her chambers, she noticed almost immediately a small chest with a tidy bouquet of violets placed upon it. While, unquestionably peonies were her favorite flower, her father, for reasons unknown, always thought them to be violets. The recognition both chilled Betty’s bones and lit a fire to her movements. She rushed to the table almost knocking the crimson chest over in her haste. The chest’s lid was unlocked and unlatched, but it took Betty several moments for her shaking fingers to open the lid. Peering inside, Betty espied two items, a letter, secured by her father’s wax seal, and an medium sized lock-box, one that Betty recognized as one of her more ingenious creations.

She should have known three years ago when her father asked her to build such a contraption that he had nefarious motives. He never once approved of her “tinkering”, and the commissioning of this particular object was the only time he showed an interest in her hobby. His request had been far too interesting and challenging for her to ignore, and this particular craft took her almost half a year to construct. The demand was deceptively simple: it should be designed so it appears to have a pickable lock, but could only be opened by a predetermined combination of rotating shapes, the panel of which should be hidden from the casual observer. The true test came in its additional security. 

Embedded within the lid was a well tested flint. If the box were to be opened in any method but the rotating panel, the flint would spark, burning the contents of the box, presuming they were flammable, and given the pleasure her father emoted upon being presented the lockbox, she was certain that these contents were. Her father had set the combination without her knowledge, and she could only hope he divulged that secret in the letter. Careful as not to tear the parchment, Betty broke the seal of the letter, not entirely certain that she could handle yet another exposed family secret.

_ My Dearest Betty, _

_ Upon reading this, you either already know about my departure from the Allied Kingdoms, or frankly, you are about to. I am sorry we could not have a more formal goodbye. You are the heir I have always hoped for, and now that it has come to fruition, I am not there to witness, and for that I am truly regretful.  _

_ I need you to understand that I did not kill Jason Blossom, but my efforts to confront those who did have resulted not entirely in my favor, and I must flee. I shall not tell you to where I am travelling, but know that I love you, even if we do not meet again in this life. _

_ The second thing I must impart to you is regarding the gift I have left you, your precious lockbox. The combination lies solely with your mother, and you most of all know that she is the only person besides myself who may safely open the lockbox. _

_ The contents are dangerous Betty, I implore you to leave them for you mother. _

_ Maintain my legacy Elizabeth, _

_ Your father. _

Betty stared at the letter for more minutes than were necessary in hopes that it would spontaneously rewrite itself to provide more valuable or usable information, or at minimum, hide her father’s heinousness. 

He knew. 

He knew who had taken Jason Blossom’s life and attempted to steal Polly’s and instead of bringing them to justice he resorted to cheap bargaining.

A bargain that now thrust her into a position she never wanted, and blackened the Cooper name under scandal. Betty almost crumpled the letter and threw it into the newly stoked fire, but recognized that this letter was now evidence. Evidence she needed to show Jughead, if he still would speak to her.

The door to her sitting chamber opened with a groan, and Betty thrust the letter behind her back, positioning herself in front of the empty chest and lockbox as a maid entered with a tray filled with supper, though Betty did not know if she could conjure an appetite to consume the hearty stew and what looked like an entire loaf of bread.

“Pardon me Lady Cooper. The King, Miss Lodge and the princes, send their best wishes, my lady.” Betty thanked the maid, Pepper, she believed her strange name was, and waited impatiently for her to make her exit, a wish she regretted as soon as the small girl turned around and tightly whispered, “The castle staff too, sends their best wishes.” Her bravado spent, the young girl bowed and nearly hit herself with the door she closed it so quickly behind her.

Betty closed her eyes and took several steadying breaths. The kindness of strangers has a simple but effective way focusing one’s mind and unburdening one’s worries. 

Looking towards the lockbox she steeled herself for battle, she created the blasted object, she should be able to unlock its contents without destroying its precious secrets. She might need a peace offering as ammunition to plead for Jughead’s forgiveness. Forgiveness she was more than willing to beg for. She had faced the last several hours threatened with losing him for her life, and it had nearly broke her after a day of hefty emotional blows. 

Focusing at the task at hand, Betty rotated the box, inspecting it at every angle, trying to reacquaint herself with its intricacies and construction. Noting the notches at every corner she remembered the springs and triggers she rigged to start the flint should such tampering occur. Unless she could deconstruct four sides of the box simultaneously and reach either the contents or the flint before ignition, dismantling the box was not an option. Betty conceded she was an excellent inventor, but her reflexes were not exemplary. 

She turned her attention to the combination panel, hidden by a sliding plank of wood she easily maneuvered to reveal the six small tumblers. Each tumbler was etched with a shape in lieu of the more common letters or numbers to make guessing more difficult. She could go about trying every possible combination, but that would take more time and sanity than Betty was willing to give. Betty shared similar feelings for the tactic of waiting for her mother to unlock the box, and even then, Betty was suspicious of whether her mother would choose to share the contents with her. Alice Cooper loved her daughter, but was fierce in believing she knew what was best for her, a topic that Betty and her mother quarreled over constantly.

With an overwrought sigh, Betty moved the box close to her face, gasping when she spied the one weakness the box had to offer. The panel’s combination was designed to be set only once, a privilege she foolishly left to her father. Her father had certainly set the box, but he forgot to remove the small wooden pin that might be long enough to reach a notch behind panel, possibly allowing the panel to open and for Betty to reach the hidden contents.

Betty took a breath and pinched the small pin between her thumb and forefinger, dislodging the L-shaped wood from its resting position. She angled the pin, leaving only a bit of the pin outside of the box as her leverage. Moving the pin right to left, she felt around for her quarry, allowing herself to breathe once it caught on the notch she was searching for. Once she lined the pin to the notch, she let herself rest, trying to remember if she had constructed any traps to trigger on meddling with the notch. She did not think so, but the doubt affected her movements enough to lose concentration for a moment to long, dislodging from the notch and dropping the pin so that it was lost in depths of the innards of the box. 

She stared disbelieving at her creation that she once was so proud of, and now was filled with only hatred towards the supposedly inoffensive item.

Her one opportunity was gone. As was all her hope.

The hope instead was replaced with all of the rage she had compartmentalized over the course of the day. Anger for her father, for abandoning her and withholding precious information. Anger for her mother, who opted one daughter over the other and left Betty to fend off the wolves on her own. Anger for the King, who allowed that miserable council to happen in the first place. Anger for Archie, for, well being Archie. Anger for Jughead, who could not read her mind to determine her pushing him away was an act of self sabotage. Anger for Veronica, for putting doubts of that relationship in her mind in the first place. 

Surpassing all of that thought, was anger towards herself. For not seeing her father’s ulterior motives. For not telling Jughead how she felt. For not taking Floyd Clayton in an embrace and thanking him for being the father she needed. For not being able to unlock this idiotic box, that she herself constructed.

In an involuntary fit of rage, Betty heaved the lock box towards the open entry of the auxiliary room of her chamber suite. Immediately regretting the action, Betty leapt to her feet rushing after it, sending silent prayers she did not inflict damage that would trigger one of her traps to spring.

“Ow!”

Betty stopped dead, almost tumbling over at her sudden stop in momentum. Her breath was coming out in short pants as she whispered towards the disembodied voice in the darkness of her superfluous bedchamber.

“Jughead!?”

***

“Ow!”

Jughead had managed to catch the object that Betty had thrown in his direction, unknowingly of course, and on instinct he clung to it as he heard Betty whisper his name into the darkness.

The last several hours had not been the most pleasant of Jughead’s life. Though he had been tested by a fair number of trials in his years, he would number Betty’s rejection as one of the more potent pains he had experienced in his young life, and he was eager to ease such worry. Part of its potency came from not understanding its impetus, but also fearing that he understood it too well.

During that dreadful council, Earl Clayton hand come heroically to his lady’s defense, and the greatest insecurities within Jughead found himself jealous of a man who he had never met. The spectre of her lost love had reappeared, and Jughead was sick worrying if it had caused her sudden change in feeling. The sickness increased as her stay at Cooper manor lengthened, and by mealtime, Jughead could not inspire himself to consume one bite. Archie looked as if he were witnessing the first sign of the end of the world. He pushed his food around his plate to appease his dinner companions, but upon hearing of Betty’s arrival, excused himself feigning a believable illness.

Though he was not proud to admit it, Jughead had spied possible clandestine entries into Betty’s chamber prior to this evening, an endeavour he was thankful for as he snuck onto the crow’s nest wrapping around the western spire.

He had snuck into her rooms in hopes of seeing her, but now that he had been prematurely discovered, it could easily be misconstrued that he was spying on her, thus he was reluctant to expose his presence. Timidly stepping out of the darkness with the unknown wooden object extended in front of him as an offering, he softly voiced, “Yes, I did not want to alert the maids outside your door, so I came in from the crow’s nest outside that window…”

Betty rushed forward, grabbing the box and letting out a groan of relief once it was in her hands, gently setting it down on the sitting room table next to a mostly uneaten supper. Feeling slightly offended, he pouted, “Do not worry yourself, Betty. Though you have an unexpected strength I was unharmed by whatever that projectile…” Jughead stopped speaking as Betty turned to him, emotion flowing unchecked from her body as she threw herself, without reservation, into Jughead’s arms.

Though surprised, Jughead felt relief surge through him as he held onto Betty, and as she clung to him in return. He left it to Betty to determine when the embrace should expire, as he believed he could hold her for all eternity. To his great happiness it was several minutes before she parted them, looking into his face but keeping her hands on his back. For his part, Jughead slid his hands up her back, relishing in the shiver he incited, and grasped her face gently in his hands, to ensure he had her attention.

“Given our parting this afternoon, that was not the reception I expected,” she frowned and started to pull away inspiring fear that he had once again voiced the wrong sentiment.

“I am so sorry Jug, I was scared and overwhelmed by everything that transpired today, I let those emotions control my actions,” Betty cast her face downwards and moved away from him to sit on the settee, where Jughead wasted no time following, intentionally sitting closer to her than was appropriate. He has spent the afternoon in various levels of panic and distress, and now that she was here and receptive to his presence, he was willing to take all advantages she would allow.

“Was there truth behind those words, Betts? Is that what you believe?” Jughead both dreaded and craved the answer in equal measure. As Betty shifted away from him, Jughead’s heart dropped into his gut, and his fear wanted him to run, jump out the window from where he came so as not to hear the words he dreaded.

“No. Not entirely. I just meant...our residence at the castle...your stay in the River Kingdom and my stay in the castle are not infinite. I am unsure of your intentions.” Betty stopped eyes widening as she gasped, “Not intentions, per say...more clarifying expectations, my expectations specifically, though I suppose that necessitates we discuss yours as well, and are you planning on saving me from this ramble anytime soon?” Betty’s cheeks were a deep crimson from embarrassment and frustration. 

Jughead just stared at her for a spell, but after she smacked his shoulder he laughed and replied, “Sorry Betts, but I was in a torturous state all afternoon, and it is refreshing to learn I was not alone in that torment.”

Betty glared at him, “Today has not been the easiest for me Jug, you could at least feign kindness.”

Jughead smiled and moved closer so that their legs were touching from hip to knee and he angled his body towards her, draping one arm over the settee, his hand barely brushing her shoulder, while with his opposite hand traced a feather pattern up her arm. Upon reaching her face, he tilted it toward him, “My sincerest apologies. But let me assure you, Betty Cooper, I would gladly take up a lifetime of thievery to ensure as much stolen time with you as is possible.”

Betty moved closer, “I was not long in my resolve, I was attempting to free the contents of the lockbox as a peace offering when I came to plead for forgiveness.” Betty’s lips were moving slowly towards Jughead’s, his tongue involuntarily licking his lips as a response. Their noses were almost touching when suddenly Jughead jerked back, a victim of his own curiosity and asked, “What is in the lockbox?”

Betty suddenly looked alert as she stood to retrieve a small missive. While her back was turned, Jughead took the heel of his hand and smacked it against his forehead as punishment for ruining that perfect opportunity. As Betty turned back to him, Jughead took steadying breath to listen to whatever clearly important information Betty had to impart.

“The lockbox and the letter are from my father.”

Jughead raised his eyebrows in surprise as Betty forced the letter into his hands, returning to her seat next to him, drawing her skirt and knees underneath her while distractingly biting her lip as he read. The contents of the letter soon had his entire attention, and as he finished and gestured towards the lockbox on the table, Betty lunged forward to grab the object. Betty gave a not entirely brief recap of the box and how she constructed it, as Jughead reached for her abandoned stew. She shot him a disbelieving glance as he started eating the soup, using the bread as an edible utensil. He waved the bread in her direction as a gesture for her to continue, and she did so with an entertained smirk playing on her lips and in her tone.

“Could we find another object to use to catch the notch?” 

Betty had already begun shaking her head, “Upon further thought I am not sure enough that there are not traps for ignition behind the combination panel. It is something I would do, something overly ornate to gain my father’s approval.” Betty seemed ashamed to be harboring such inclinations, but Jughead assured her, “You are a thorough genius Betty Cooper.”

“Little good my genius is to us at this moment,” she looked filled with dread as she half-groaned, “We are going to have to wait for my mother.”

“Will she share the contents information with us?”

Betty pondered the question for a moment before responding with careful thought, “She is oddly sensitive about the Serpent Kingdom, but you are a prince, so it could fall either way. I do not believe she will tell me, she has this notion that I could not possibly handle any bit of difficult information. But what other choice do we have?”

Jughead sighed to signal his agreement, “Will she be here for the wedding festivities, at least?”

“Yes, just two days. Alice Cooper cannot be bothered to be present to defend her daughter or her land, but show her status at royal wedding and she would not miss it for the world.” As soon as she said it she winced in remorse, “That is not fair, she should stay by Polly, and her presence would raise questions if absent from the wedding.”

“You can be upset with your mother, but I think most of your parental rage should be saved for your father.” 

Betty’s face turned icy, “He knew, Jughead, and instead of doing something productive with that information, he tried to engage in some backwards dealing.” Betty gripped her hands before suddenly stilling, glancing at him in a panic and releasing the tension. Jughead made a note of the odd action as she continued, “My father sees life and information as a business opportunity. He will play anyone for a profit.”

Betty abruptly stood and moved behind the settee to pace back in forth, losing herself to panic, “Is this the way I was raised? Is this ingrained in my subconscious to be be a heartless manipulator? You even suggested it is what I do best, bend people to my will.”

Jughead winced at the true accusation, as he launched himself from his seat, setting the now empty bowl of stew back onto the table. “That was my insecurities taking over my brain and my voice. You are not fated or bound for any one path. Not one chosen by your father, nor one determined by your mother.”

Jughead stepped forward, grabbing Betty by the shoulders to stop her pacing and control her focus.

“You are free to forge your own path Betts, be that at the Cooper duchy or elsewhere.”

Betty’s entire manner shifted, her anger and frustration veering towards shyness and reserve, and she asked softly, “Elsewhere?”

The meaning she placed behind the word, the question it held caused all time and movement to cease. He was not breathing, nor did he feel starved of air. He was just existing without thought in this moment with her.

Because it was the only thing his body could possibly do, he reached out holding her face and his hands and kissed her. A soft questioning kiss that lasted several seconds, both full of promise and hesitation. Pulling back, Jughead kept his eyes closed, memorizing the impossible softness of her lips in case her response contained rejection instead of pleasure.

“The stew was delicious,” not expecting that response, his eyes snapped open to be greeted by a mischievous looking Betty, her eyes sparkling with intent, “I wish you had cared to save some for me. I am absolutely starved.”

More than willing to extend this game Jughead responded, “Perhaps you should have another taste.”

Enough of an invitation for Betty, she threw her arms around his shoulders and reached on her tiptoes to catch his lips, almost as tentative as Jughead’s initial kiss. Encouraged by the reciprocation, Jughead pulled her closer and moved them so he could back Betty against the wall. She elicited a delighted gasp as her back hit the stone and Jughead trapped her bottom lip between his own, giving it a soft nibble as he released it. The action encouraged Betty to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling him back in for a harder kiss that parted their lips. Salivating at the invitation, Jughead ran his tongue across her bottom lip begging for permission.

The answer was not to be known, as sharp rap at the door broke their embrace as Betty pivoted and shoved Jughead through the nearest open door, which fortunately happened to be the unused bedchamber Jughead had used for his clandestine entrance. Betty had just managed to shut the door and adjust her body enough to hide Jughead from view of the maid who entered the chamber.

“Evening Lady Eliz–apologies, Lady Cooper.” Jughead heard the sharp pokes and stirring of a fire being stoked as the woman asked, “Are you changing bedchambers my lady?”

“Oh, no,” Betty started, speaking slowly to give her time to craft a response, “I just felt a chill, coming from the room, and wanted to investigate.”

“Ah yes that sometimes happens, I will light a fire in that grate once I have tended to your bedchamber, that will burn the chill straight away,” the overly helpful maid responded.

“Oh, that is very thoughtful, thank you,” Betty’s hand that was hidden from the maid but fully visible to Jughead started moving wildly, gesturing for him to make his exit. Sensing the danger, but loathe to leave, he grabbed Betty’s hand and gave a long kiss to the palm before he leapt toward the window and through the ledge in a matter of seconds. 

Upon gaining his footing on the crow’s, Jughead turned to see Betty peering back at him from the doorway, the moonlight hitting her eyes.

“I hope you enjoyed the stew my lady,” Jughead whispered, and turned immediately, already beginning his travel through the crow’s nest.

Upon hearing a soft giggle through the open window, Jughead could not fight the smile that bloomed on his lips, as he escaped into the night, his mood as light as that moonshine in Betty’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. I need a nap now. This chapter really was so much easier to write than the last, but as you can see...ALL THE THINGS HAPPENED. I almost split this guy in half, but seeing as my life is not really my own for the next two weeks, I wanted to get you all a big chapter to tide you over in the meantime.
> 
> Feel free to follow or reach out to me on the tumblr @kesleyjo, or comment here. I love hearing from you all!


	10. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danger! There be typos ahead...(so so many typos I fear)

Jughead had always been a hopeless fidget. His mind could never find a moment of stillness and given the unspent energy and unease his thoughts generated, his body deemed it necessary to channel this subconscious thought into twitches of his fingers and endless pacing of his steps.

JB, ever helpful, was fond of telling him that one fine day he would wear himself through the floor.

On this morning however, Jughead lay in bed later than he normally would, and as he enjoyed the last peaceful grips of sleep, he was completely still. His mind was otherwise singularly occupied by thoughts of a beautiful blonde, and the mystery of her laugh and lips. The entirety of his conscious recreated the details of their interaction, and he replayed it on an endless delicious repeat until he could no longer ignore the demands of the oncoming day.

Jughead was drunk on Betty Cooper. But as greatly as he needed to feel her softness, hear her noises once more, he would not be able to enjoy a repeat performance until he had seen to his neglected Serpent obligations. Rising slowly out of his bed and reaching for his ever-present black clothing, he relished in his last few replays of Betty before beginning the day, one that hopefully ended with reuniting with his love.

His love.

The unconscious reminder of that emotion caused his endless fidgeting to return with renewed vigor, and for his mind to abandon the last bits of slumber that had been distracting him from the realities of his current conundrum. He had never felt this emotion romantically before, and the fact that it had fallen upon him within a span of weeks, churned an unease in his stomach. But to deny such a truth was pointless; it was this unease that further cemented the reality of the severity of his feelings towards Betty. If he did not love her, he would not fear his affection so.

Two separate realities now faced Jughead. The first was to heed his father's endless warnings and abandon these feelings for Betty; marry an appropriate woman with a title and beneficial political alliance and embark on a respectful but loveless marriage free of torment and passion. Or, faced with the reality that he and Betty’s relationship no longer had the benefit of time (now that she was an heiress) he would accelerate the trajectory of their relationship and ask her to be his queen.

Jughead did not need to ponder the question for long. He would rather try and fail miserably with Betty, than to face a lifetime without her. The surety of that feeling strengthened his unease but did not sway his resolve. Once Jughead had made a decision he was loyal to it, for good or ill.

All that remained was to ask his father for permission, and to breach the subject with Betty, in that order. Both terrifying in different but equal ways.

There was nothing to be done until his father arrived the next day for the wedding festivities, so he tried to focus on a singular task, one that he knew would fail to distract him completely. He required an update from the Serpents on their observations, or more likely, lack thereof around the castle. He let the promise of that mundane and practiced task numb his nerves enough to leave his chamber, and function like the feared Serpent Prince that all believed him to be. Jughead straightened his spine, placed an unbothered scowl on his face, and entered the castle pathways.

All the maid and manservants who passed Jughead in the halls looked away, intimidated by the quiet confidence he exuded, and Jughead was encouraged by the reaction, believing he had tamed his emotions to an acceptable degree.

If they were to look closely though, they would witness the frays of that facade, betrayed almost imperceptibly by the constant but persistent fluttering of unrested fingertips.

***

Betty dreaded moving from her bed.

She had flirted with but had not entirely captured any worthwhile sleep the night before. Despite that, her body was awake and alive with a healthy mixture of excitement and terror generated from the events of the day prior.

She had done it, she had kissed Jughead Jones and now she had no intelligent thought on how to proceed with normal living. Encouraging this paralysis was her fear in Jughead’s expectation of their shared moment, or worse, lack thereof. Kevin had mentioned Jughead’s history of unattached romantic pursuit, and as much as Betty did not cognitively believe such a mindset, her deepest insecurities were fostering doubt and speculation. When she pivoted towards the other possibilities, however, her stomach tumbled, and her heart thumped irregularly in her chest.

In dire need of distraction, Betty rummaged through her mind for a task or mission; a definable goal to work toward and to capture her mind and attention. Hitting on an idea, Betty threw herself from the bed and towards her armoire. She started to reach for a simple light brown dress, but paused, dragging her fingers across several garments to reach a grey and navy dress instead. The dress was not overly formal by any means, but it did cling to Betty in such a way that it hinted to a shapely body underneath, without crossing the line of scandal. Betty quickly wrapped a dressing gown around her and moved to the outside entrance from her sitting room. Quietly opening the door, she was relieved and amused to find a pile of slumbering maids outside her chamber. Spying her trusted Midge, she quietly roused her and acrobatically untangled her from the pile.

Midge and Betty softly shut the chamber door behind them, and out of caution, traipsed silently into Betty’s bedchamber before resuming conversation.

“The castle not providing the maids suitable sleeping quarters, Midge?” Betty teased while stepping into her dress. Midge immediately moved to fasten the lacings, with a gentleness that Hilda from the previous morning, had lacked.

“Several of the maids wanted to be nearby in case you were in want of anything during the night, since yesterday was so stressful,” Midge finished lacing the dress just as Betty turned to face her, surprised shock on her face.

“I am not sure what I have done to earn such loyalty,” was Betty’s soft reply.

With light laughter Midge countered, “It is my great pleasure to inform you of your unquestioned status as favourite in the castle proper, my lady.”

Because he clouded every thought that passed through Betty’s mind, she responded without pause for appropriateness, “Jughead would say that is because I seek to have all my acquaintances warped into performing my bidding.”

Midge’s reply was punctuated by amused laughter, “That young man is so smitten with you, I think he would be jealous of the floor if you were kind toward it.”

Betty rolled her eyes and swatted playfully at the young maid, but could not quite shake her discomfort, and refocused on her chosen distraction. She thanked and dismissed Midge, and turned to her writing desk, organizing her thoughts to perform some useful employment.

From all that transpired yesterday, it was urgent that Betty speak, in person, to Polly. She was in the room where it happened, as it were, and she must have been pressured in some way by her father to sign away her lofty inheritance, and she must hold hints or insight to a possible motive. Betty could no longer tolerate her mother’s interference, no matter how well intentioned it may be.

The first several paragraphs of the letter to her mother detailed the events of the previous day, even though she was sure the king had already sent her an official missive containing the highlights of yesterday’s council. Betty forced herself to refrain from any judgement or bitterness in her description, ending the letter with a plea to see her sister, to make sure that she was alright after the change in succession. That sentiment held true, but her mother did not need to be made aware of the other motivations Betty had for an immediate visit.

Betty folded, sealed, and addressed the missive, letting out a heavy sigh as the morning bell chimed its first six chimes. She would fall over from exhaustion if she pursued this late night and early morning schedule that was quickly becoming the norm of her life.

Before embarking on her next errand, she allowed one fleeting thought towards her panic regarding Jughead, but then she cleared her mind of nothing but getting to the Riders well before the next bell change. Betty almost let out a yelp of glee as she realized that if she walked, she would have to walk quickly and avoid any delays to reach the Riders in time for the local rider to embark on the day’s journey, leaving no time for Betty’s inevitable spiral.

Once she finally reached the Riders a brisk twenty minutes later, she was slightly breathless with a sheen of cold sweat on her brow, earning a look of curious disgust from the Rider on duty, though he took her letter without ceremony. Betty regretfully exited the hall and, at a much slower pace, made her way back to the castle.

Her mission to clear her mind of Jughead had reached a critical failure as she neared the spot where she had almost told him she was falling for him just a few days earlier. She could feel the truth to that statement even stronger now than she did looking into his eyes then, waiting for him to respond. But since that moment she had been grappling with the realities of their situation.

Major life decisions should not be made with little more than a week’s worth of evidence. Betty reasoned that the intensity of her feelings was due to the unending pressure situations they found themselves in, because of Jason’s murder and their pursuit of justice. One interpretation of their feelings was that this intense situation was simply a catalyst for emotions and relationships that would have formed on their own anyway. Another interpretation, of course, was that these feelings were fleeting, and only felt as intensely because of their circumstances.

In an ideal world, she and Jughead could fumble through this muddled situation over a year’s worth of time, to accurately determine the longevity of their feelings.

Time they did not have.

Betty turned at the corner of the castle to make her way towards a side entrance that was close to the servant’s entry and exit. Betty quickly tucked herself back behind the safety of the walls castle as she saw the object of all her mind’s thoughts engaged in a serious conversation with Sweet Pea. She blinked several times to ensure that her mind did not conjure him by sheer will.

After confirming that she was not hallucinating him, she indulged her hidden vantage point by blatantly ogling his figure. The two of them had been indulging in innocent touches and not so accidental leaning, but yesterday was the first day where she felt those muscles underneath her hands, felt his chest against hers as he panted for breath.

Such sensations left her in a sweet delirium that could not be sated.

When she first saw him upon his arrival to the River Castle she was smitten by the tautness of his frame and the litheness with which he moved, but she was not prepared for how perfect he would feel, or how immediately she would become an addict for him. Betty stifled a groan as she moved back to lean against the wall, removing him from view as she cleared her mind of these unhelpful thoughts. As pleasurable as it may be to lust after the Serpent Prince, it was counterintuitive to her plans to gain sense and bearing.

“Lady Cooper!”

Adrenaline shot directly into Betty’s heart as she turned towards the calling of her name. She was jointly relieved and disappointed to discover that it was not Jughead’s voice calling for her. Instead, in a not entirely unpleasant surprise, she recognized one of her duchy’s stewards, Georgie Henderson, moving towards her in a casual jog.

“Georgie, well met! On your way back to the duchy?” Betty knew her tone sounded rushed and suspicious, but Georgie was an easy-going boy who would not be parsing her behavior for hidden meaning. Unlike the man whose attention was also earned by Georgie’s greetings and whose blue eyes she could now feel boring through her back.

“Indeed! I am glad to meet Lady Cooper, so I may properly extend to you my sincerest good wishes on your succession to heir. That surely means a lot of adjustments to your life’s path, but I know I am relieved knowing the duchy is falling into such capable hands.” Betty gave him a gracious smile, knowing that he meant the words he was speaking. She had overheard, on more than one occasion, the staff discussing Polly’s superior court skills, but lacking administrative abilities, as they discussed which nobleman would be a suitable husband to supplement those crucial needs.

And suddenly Betty was struck with a realization and idea.

Needing both an escape and a distraction from Jughead, who would no doubt call for Betty’s attention after she parted with Georgie; and more information on the practicalities of her newfound heirship and significance toward her romantic future, Betty took Georgie’s arm and propelled them down the road towards the duchy, regretfully leaving a confused prince in her wake.

“That is appreciated Georgie, and as the fates have it, I need Pop Tate’s counsel regarding the future running of the estate. Be my escort?”

Young Georgie smiled a wide grin, and only when they had traveled for a half minute’s time did Betty spare a glance behind her toward Jughead. She felt the beginnings of panic begin in her heart as she just barely saw his figure re-enter the castle, not sparing her another glance.

Acknowledging that she brought such a circumstance upon herself, she stifled her hurt as she focused on the finite task she had manufactured for herself. There would be no use entertaining dangerous thoughts if she did not have all the answers, answers she was now intent on discovering.

***

Sweet Pea, Jughead was convinced, was being purposely obtuse.

Though not a new trait for the tall knight, it never failed to test the very last of the prince’s nerves. The questions aired had been simple and explicit, yet Sweet Pea felt the need to add needless adjectives to otherwise mundane objective observations.

“Pea, this is not difficult: has there been any suspicious behavior during the span of the prior week.”

Sweet Pea spoke with a heavy air, as if he were pondering a sober philosophical debate, “Suspicious is vague concept, Jughead. There are townspeople who regard others with bald appraising looks, that clearly are meant to imply behavior that is out of the norm, although I would deem it to be routine. Then there are some patterns and comments which cause me to raise an eyebrow, but which their companions regard as customary. Which raises the question, are you interested in what I am observing as suspicious, or perhaps what others deem as suspicious…”

Jughead interrupted with a long, admittedly overly dramatic sigh, raising one hand to signal Sweet Pea to end his ramble, while the other rubbed at his temple to ease the pain said ramble had inspired.

“Sweets. You know good and well the intent of the question I am asking you. Answer it using half a dozen words or fewer.” As Sweet Pea opened his mouth, Jughead interrupted with one final decree, “That is an order.”

Raising a finger for each word that was spoken, Sweet Pea slowly replied, “Not...a damn...thing...to report,” having reached his word limit, Pea quirked his lip and incited a respectful rebellion by adding a “Sir” to the end.

Jughead narrowed his eyes in a glare but was betrayed by a smirk fighting to stay checked at the corners of his mouth.

“Honestly, Jug, for an unsolved murder, this has to rank as one of the dullest assignments we have ever been posted to. Worse than that one village with the crazy family and the strange goat.”

Jughead chuckled at the memory, but when he spoke his tone was serious, “Fangs, Bootsie, Jade, and Wiley all share your sentiments, and I have a feeling once I talk to the others, their observations will not stray far from the norm.”

Sweet Pea shifted from one foot to the other, “How much longer do we have to be stationed here?”

“Until the wedding, the kingdom will have increased security given a royal marriage, and even with the influx of wealth the new bride brings to the kingdom, King Andrews cannot afford to pay us to stay for an extended amount of time.”

Just beyond Sweet Pea’s nodding head, Jughead spotted a whip of blonde hair that swiftly attempted to hide behind the far castle wall, though adorably, she failed at completely obscuring her figure, her green eyes peering at him and Sweets.

She had seen him. Not only that, she had leered at him, and god did he enjoy her gaze. Even preened a bit given the audience. After a few minutes passed, her vantage point was revealed, at least to her knowledge, by an infantile-looking man boy, who lapped after Betty, like a lost mutt.

Jughead abandoned Sweet Pea, who was mid-sentence (not that Jughead heard a word of his statement besides), to move towards Betty to signal his intent to speak to her, fully ignoring Sweet Pea’s justified protests behind him. Betty, for her part, seemed entirely too focused on the child in front of her, animatedly moving her hands and over exaggerating her facial expressions. She knew Jughead was watching her and was doing her best to appear unaffected.

Suddenly, she hooked her arm with the young boy and headed at a brisk pace away from the castle, towards, he presumed, her own duchy.

Their non-exchange had been their first interaction since their moment the evening prior, and her reaction begged for further context. While he desperately wished to the speak to the source directly, she appeared not yet keen for such a conversation, and Jughead would not be satisfied until he could find a comparable source. Spurned by a sudden inclination, he turned immediately back to the castle entrance, to find Toni. Sweet Pea had already moved on to the next post on his watch route, so he gratefully he was not delayed by apologetic farewells.

Jughead barreled up the stairs two steps and a time and started traversing the halls towards the eastern part of the castle where Toni’s chambers resided. She had returned late from the Forest Kingdom the evening prior, and consequently Jughead had scheduled her watch shifts for much later in the evening to accommodate that visit, meaning she was most likely resting in her chambers.

Unfortunately, in his eagerness to reach a conversation with one friend, he charged into another and an encounter he had been actively avoiding.

Archie was ambling slowly and rather aimlessly, eyes cast down to the ground, when Jughead turned a corner, barely missing running headlong into his friend. His footsteps stuttered as he clung to the wall in an effort to absorb his interrupted momentum.

“Arch, I...sorry.” Jughead started walking backwards, as nonchalantly as possible, but was stopped by Archie’s unmoving stance as he stared unnervingly at Jughead.

“Are you well, Archie?” Jughead’s voice came out softer and more concerned than he intended, but the emotion rang truthfully through them.

Abruptly, even though Archie had been staring directly into Jughead’s face, it was as if he was just now _seeing_ Jughead. The light returned to his eyes, and his soul returned to his body, as he appeared struck with a conflict and a difficult decision.

Clearing his throat, he quietly responded, “I am sorry, Jug.”

As if approaching a scared animal, Jughead softly responded, “It is alright Arch, I was not paying attention to my surroundings…”

“No, no,” Archie scolded shaking his head from side to side, “I am...sorry.”

Jughead’s entire expression hardened, catching his meaning, and wanting nothing more than to ignore the oncoming encounter. He chose his words carefully, “For what, exactly, might that be for Arch?”

Archie unconsciously widened his stance, and held his hands out before he spoke, clearly prepared for some amount of hostility, perhaps a physical altercation. But the speech was careful and practiced, so much so, Jughead wondered if Archie had set about searching the halls for him simply for the opportunity to recite it.

“Lady Cooper is still owed an apology by me, that I admit, and I will shall be obliged to gift it to her as soon as we are in a place both appropriate and comfortable. But there is an apology, or rather, a having out of sorts that must occur between us, Jug.” Archie’s face had been cast slightly downwards, but as he moved his eyes to meet Jughead’s he took a breath and swallowed, punctuation the importance of his next declaration, “I cannot, nor will I apologize for loving Betty. I am better person for that love. But I am sorry for allowing that to come between our friendship.”

Jughead narrowed his eyes at his friend. He wanted to believe him, even with his unfortunate adherence to his feelings for Betty. He had felt the blunt, ever present pain of his friend’s distance the past few days, but the sharpness of his words at the Feast of Promise were just as acutely felt.

“Archie...I want us to recover, but what you said, or more aptly, threatened at the Feast…”

Archie stepped closer waving his hands, apparently ready for such a rebuttal, “Yes, my words were harsh, and I overstepped, and I…” Archie stopped, and winced as if he had been physically injured. “I remain adversely affected by whatever affection you harbor for Lady Cooper, but as your friend...as both of your friends, I understand that I need to place my feelings elsewhere.”

Jughead took a moment to absorb Archie’s words. He was rendered complete mute by the confession. Jughead was well aware of the hypocrisy of his situation, as illuminated by Archie’s’ own self-reflection. He too was allowing his feelings for Betty Cooper to fester an unhealthy attitude toward his best friend. But likewise, he could not, nor would he apologize for his regard towards Betty. However, if he continued to let Archie’s affection for her poison their friendship, he would be acting a callous fool.

Archie, ever wary, was concerned about the length of the silence that passed between them, so in all seriousness, he asked, “Do I need to procure a bouquet of lilies for you?”

Jughead’s mouth dropped open, and they stood in silence for several moments until Jughead emitted an ungainly snort, and he could not control the laughter that erupted from the complete earnestness of his friend. Once Archie determined that the laughter was genial and not to his detriment, he also added his loud guffaw to the chorus. They laughed together for several minutes, letting the sounds fill the gaps of uncertainty, gaps that time and understanding would heal fully.

Once they had recovered, Archie asked, “To where were you racing when you almost trampled me?”

Wanting to maintain this new truce, Jughead responded with the simple, unembellished truth, “To visit my knight, Antoinette, she arrived late last night from the Forest Kingdom.”

Archie’s large eyebrows furrowed together making a curling motion towards his cropped hair, “The one with the bright ribbon in her braid?” Then he added after a beat, as if that description were not sufficient enough, “The one who dislikes me?”

While Toni had not voiced any opinion on the River Prince that would hint at her favor or lack thereof, he knew of her close friendship to Betty, and her unquestioned loyalty to her friend. He was confident in hazarding a guess that her opinion towards the ginger leaned more towards unfavourable.  Jughead recognized that this information would not be useful towards his friend, so he simply responded with a half-hearted shrug and nod.

“I actually saw her this morning, she headed out on a tear toward the river. She appeared in ill favor.”

Jughead frowned. The visit with Cheryl must not have been completely amiable then, and he had no intention of confronting the angry sprite in such a mood. He understood too well the damage a fierce Cheryl could inflict on an unsuspecting victim, and Toni felt so acutely that the combination of those tempers created a dangerous cocktail.

Understanding Jughead’s grimace, Archie offered, “Perhaps you wanted to come spar with me instead? I was just headed towards the armory…”

Jughead made no attempt to stifle his grin. It seemed an appropriate piece of symmetry, to start repairing their bond where it had received its first blow. Jughead accepted, and the two men changed direction towards the exit that led towards the armory.

Once they had hit the open cool air though, Archie jerked to a stop, causing Jughead to look back at him in curiosity and confusion.

“I apologize Jug, but I have just one last question. You are not...I mean your intentions with Betty...are they...are you…” Archie struggled to form a coherent question, but Jughead could hint at the meaning behind his sentence fragments.

“I have no intention to ask her to be my Lady Convoy,” Jughead offered in a low voice. It was a risky gambit, to bring up such a sensitive subject, but the barb seemed to afford Archie some clarity to form a succinct thought.

“You do intend to ask her a question, though?”

Jughead only paused a beat before he answered.

“Yes.”

He thought that such a confession, said aloud, would bring back all his uncertainty around romance and marriage, but he did not feel any such trepidation; all he felt was the truth behind the word. The answer seemed enough for Archie, and though he looked slightly more uneasy than before he asked, he continued with idle conversation, as if to prove his commitment to his support.

Jughead clapped him on the back and threw him a grateful nod. Letting the years of friendship say the words he did not need to voice.

***

“Betty!”

As her arrival had been unplanned, Pop Tate had to be located in one of the far tenant homes’ and ferried back toward the Cooper estate, three bell changes had pleasantly passed, as Betty took the opportunity to visit the Cooper library and relieve it of some of its volumes. Now garnering a sense of Jughead’s taste in stories and intellectual interest, she selected half a dozen volumes to bribe his forgiveness for her slight towards him earlier in the day. She had been spending the remaining time reacquainting herself with the books’ knowledge when Pop Tate returned, greeting her with a warm hug and peck to her cheek.

“Two consecutive days of your beautiful face, my dear, it has been sorely missing from the manor.”

Betty blushed deep crimson both from the earnestness of the complement, and from guilt from her extended absence from the estate. The duchy stood not even half an hour’s worth walk from the castle, but Betty had kept her visits few and brief. She voiced this apology to Pop, who genially waved off such worry.

“My child, at your age you should be experiencing the wonders of the castle and become well versed in the intricacies of court life. I promise you, the duchy is not sprouting legs and running away,” Pop let out a wheezing laugh, but Betty could not mirror the reaction. His statement reinvigorated the guilt she was feeling and reminded her of the visit’s original intent. With a tut of his tongue, Pop regained her attention from the cobbled floor, “Your face is so stern, I expect it to give me a lecture.”

Betty rewarded him with a half-hearted roll of her eyes, but she quickly started on her purpose, intent on not forgetting any of her questions, “Pop, what does this change to heiress mean for me, logistically? Obviously, my mother is Duchess, until she chooses to pass the crown, or until I come into ruling age, but...am I expected to stay on the duchy until then? Do I need to...not to sound silly...undergo some sort of tutorship…” Betty trailed off in embarrassment, but Pop wasted no time in responding to her reasonable queries.

“Yes, until you are aged twenty-five, your mother runs the estate normally, you already are well acquainted with the day to day operations, and Earl Clayton has offered to mentor when necessary, but really, life here will not change much even when you do inherit. My own successor and I have this estate in good hands and need only your input for administrative affairs and courtly duties. As far as where you should reside, of course we hope that you come back to manor once it’s ready approved for living, but I reckon you shall want to explore the Kingdom before settling down in the duchy with a husband.”

Her heart and stomach hummed intensely as he brought up the very topic she was searching for. Lightly, so lightly she asked, “A future husband would move into the duchy?”

“It is customary to live in the estate that is of a higher rank, and either combine their estate with the Cooper holdings, or more likely, leave the estate intact as holdings for a future dowry for a second child.”

Betty nonchalantly cast her eyes to the floor, “And if I should marry above my rank?”

“You are speaking of marrying a king?”

Too quickly Betty countered, “Or a prince.” Pop’s smug grin revealed he had been purposely baiting her, and she was too meek at being found out to give him any look of reproach.

“Ah, yes. It should not surprise you to discover that your mother dedicated some amount of thought to such a circumstance.” Betty muttered “Of course she did,” under her breath but Pop must have heard, as he was chuckling when he continued, “The same idea still applies. You would, of course, move to your husband’s castle, and diplomatic agreements would have to be reached regarding kingdom ownership of the duchy, particularly if you married the Serpent Prince, as the kingdom would gain political clout by owning such a prominent piece of land in another Allied Kingdom.”

“Pop,” Betty voiced in a low warning, but Pop innocently placed his hands palms forward in a surrendering motion in front of his face.

“Simply using an example my lady. But know that the estate can run for decades without your physical presence, and many foreign marriages have faced such predicaments. There is precedence and procedure for such situations. In fact, the Hall of Stewards, will see such a union as routine and should not be used an excuse to hide away at the duchy.”

“Pop! I am not...this is not…”

“You have such a habit of making princes fall in love with you,” Betty let out an unladylike squawk of protest, but could focus on nothing else but chilling her the flames in her cheeks.

“It appears the latest however, has been more successful in winning your affection in return.”

Betty could not muster enough indignation to respond to such an obvious truth, so she lifted her shoulders in a sheepish shrug of defeat.

“My love, I have not seen you this happy in a year. Longer if truth be told. Do not run from happiness,” Pop stroked her face, and Betty realized she had shed several tears during his speech. Affected, she drew Pop into a hug he easily returned as she muttered a “Thank you, Pop.”

Betty gathered up her books and wiped the rest of her tears as she threw her satchel over her shoulder in preparation of her departure. But when she turned to give Pop a final departing embrace, she was greeted with an overly somber countenance.

She rushed to the side of the wooden chair where Pop sat and grabbed his hand, “Everything alright, Pop?”

“You are investigating the murder of Jason Blossom with your Prince?”

Betty nodded, not wanting to disrupt his confession.

“I did lie in my initial statement to the Constable, and confessed my error upon Dilton Doiley’s altered, and I believe false accusation.”

“What precisely did you lie about Pop?”

Pop could not meet Betty’s eyes as he continued, “It is true that Ethel and I saw two figures and that I went immediately to the chambers of your parents, but I did not meet your father there, he was wandering the halls close to Polly’s chambers. There was no blood, no knowledge of the goings on, but that is the truth. Your father omitted that detail from his statement to the Constable, and since I truly believe he had no knowledge of this crime, I too withheld the truth. Once the Constable discovered my altered statement, he took it as corroboration for Doiley’s malarkey.”

Pop shifted and finally met her eyes, “I do not believe your father entered that room before I found him in the halls, but I wanted to tell you, because your father…”

“Knows more than he lets on.” Betty finished for him. It was not new or surprising information, but it confirmed that the Constable would no longer be their ally in the ongoing search for the true culprit. Now it was Betty’s turn to wipe the stray tear from Pop’s face, as she gave him her final farewell and worked her way out of the manor.

The day was crisp, but beautiful, and wanting some time to think, she took a detour to an overlook, that gave a rather impressive view of the land she was now set to inherit. Sitting on a more stable part of the crumbling stone wall, she surveyed Sweetwater River in the distance, where it bisected their estate. Theirs was the only private land that extended so far out in the westward banks of Sweetwater that it jutted oddly into the Forest Kingdom, adding more resources than were typically afforded for most estates in the River Kingdom, in addition to owning an entire portion of the river itself. Staring at such a powerful display of political and geographical control, she finally felt the truth to her mother’s claims that the Cooper girls were more than worth their dowry’s price.

Aligning such an estate with a foreign power would, no doubt, shake the Allied Kingdom’s power dynamics. Despite that risk, Betty found herself allowing to hope, that the promise of her land, and the promise of her heart were enough to persuade a brooding prince to take that risk.

***

For the second time in consecutive days Jughead found himself outside of the chambers of Betty Cooper stealing his nerves so that he could sneak in.

After he and Archie had returned from the armory, they were informed by several harried looking kitchen boys that dinner would commence an hour earlier at six bells, to accommodate the influx of guests arriving for the wedding weekend.

Jughead had been annoyed and surprised. The main processional for arriving guests was tomorrow morning, and he did not expect any of the lower lords to advance their arrival. As he made his way towards his chambers, the servants of the castle seemed to share his annoyance. The castle was expecting over forty guests to stay in the various rooms, but the service workers had anticipated one more day of preparation. If possible, the already absurd number of maids had tripled, and the halls were a flurry of brown dresses, red faces, bedsheets and water buckets.

In fact, he had to wait for water to be delivered to his room for his bath, causing him to arrive late by a quarter of an hour to dinner. Their number had increased from the comfortable five, to an almost unruly fifteen, and he was further dismayed to observe the place next to Betty had been overtaken by the Baron Chisolm. The ugly claws of jealousy and uncertainty tore into Jughead’s nerves, already exacerbated by Betty’s skittishness in the morning.

His heart stopped for an entirely different reason as Betty looked up to see him, rewarding him with a blinding smile, and a mouthed “Sorry” as she tilted her head towards the Baron next to her.

The dinner passed at a slow excruciating pace. Even though they started the meal an hour earlier than normal, the added course and guests drew out their dinner so that when the main course was finally cleared, the bells had already changed past nine. Throughout the ordeal, Betty was seated mercifully across from him, intercepting unfortunate and painful conversation, while throwing him secretive shared looks that not only improved his mood but bolstered his hope.

The late hour would not save them from dessert, though. But as the poached apples and sweet cream were placed in front of them, a Rider brusquely but discreetly entered the dining hall, moving with purpose to Betty. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, handing her a missive which she opened in haste. The whole spectacle went unseen by the rest of the party, but since everything involving Betty was watched by Jughead with keen interest, he alone saw Betty’s eyes widen and her mouth form a thin line of anger. He too was the only observer of her quiet rush to King Frederick and her beg for dismissal. The King looked at her with worry, but whatever Betty responded with seemed to ease the concern.

A feeling that Jughead did not share.

That feeling spurred Jughead to finish his dessert in one large bite, and kindly excuse himself from the dinner, feigning Serpent duties.

Those events led him here, hedging on the appropriateness on knocking on Betty’s chamber door. The maids, preoccupied by guest preparations, were shockingly and mercifully scarce, but their aloneness only increased his unease at the forwardness of his actions.

Ten minutes had passed since Betty’s initial departure from the dining hall, and another five floated away before Jughead garnered enough courage to approach the door and raise his hand to alert its occupant of his presence.

Such noise was unneeded, as Betty opened the door before he could make a sound.

“Jug!”

Jughead expected Betty to scold him for impropriety, but she instead acted opposite of such notions by scanning the hallway for onlookers, and upon seeing no witnesses, promptly took Jughead by the shirt and tugged him inside her chambers into her sitting room. She had the good sense to shut the door quietly behind her, but when she turned to face him, her eyes were filled with unrest and anger.

Luckily the anger was not for him.

“I was about to search for you, I hope I did not cause you to miss dessert?”

Jughead gave her a look of mock offence, “I can both indulge my love for food and chase after your distress, I am a man of a thousand talents.”

Betty just shook her head in amusement and held up her hand, Jughead only now seeing the parchment she held, slightly dented from her grip. She handed it to him as she explained.

“I wrote my mother this morning, telling her that I needed to visit Polly–”

Jughead interrupted, miffed, “Only you?”

“The Sisters do not allow male visitors,” Betty interjected with an annoyed wave of her hand as she continued, “My mother, who will be here tomorrow, mind you, rushed this insult of a letter.”

Betty eyed the letter and moved her gaze back to him expectantly, suggesting that now was his time to look at the short message. Jughead unfurled the parchment as Betty moved closer to him, watching him as he read the letter.

_Dear Betty,_

_Polly is in great distress given the flight of your father and the general rigors of recovery. She is not fit to be seen and would be deeply anxious for you to see her in such a state._

_Perhaps after she has taken orders in several months she shall be fit for your company._

_I expect to see you in the morrow and hear no more of the matter._

The letter was written in rushed script and was left unsigned. He looked to Betty, indicating his comprehension of the message, inciting the fierce woman to embark on an unfiltered tirade.

“She sent this to silence my questions, Jug. Both her and my father know something of the crime. My father knows _who_ committed the crime, and I fear also knew the motive given Pop Tate’s confession.” Jughead did not know exactly what said confession was, but clearly Betty was in no mood for interruption. “And now I fear that my mother is also harbouring some knowledge of the grievous incident. Why else would she be hiding my sister from me?” Betty had set to pacing back and forth in the empty space by the open window, the cool breeze prompting gooseflesh to rise on Betty’s arms. Both the cold and her mood incited Jughead to move towards her and take her in his arms. “My mother and father did not carry out this crime, we both know that. But the more complicit I find them, the more adrift I feel. What is this conspiracy, Jug?”

Betty placed her forehead to his shoulder and he held her tighter, feeling her tremble slightly under his increased grip, from fear or anger he did not know. “Betty, this is all speculation. Your family is hiding something, yes, but it will do no use to fret over this until we can speak to your mother and to Polly. Your father was set up as a patsy for a reason, that could be what your mother is hiding. Or she could know the motive or killer and is withholding to protect you and Polly. There is more than one possible reason, Betts.”

Jughead pulled back slightly and tilted Betty’s head towards him with gentle pressure from his knuckle on her chin, “I trust this letter will not prevent you from asking these questions of her tomorrow.” Betty glared at him with a “Who do you think I am, you fool?” stare, which caused Jughead to chuckle, stroking her back slowly as penance.

Betty cuddled her face against his shoulder, “In case I cannot find you tomorrow, let us meet in our study at midday. We will discuss my mother’s treacherous dealings.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

They existed in their embrace for as long as it was appropriate. But as the impetus for Jughead’s arrival reached resolution, his unchaperoned presence in her chambers sat heavy between them, shortening their breaths and quickening their heartbeats.

“You ran from me today. Why?” Jughead’s voice was merely a breath on her cheek. Betty tucked her head further into his shoulder so that when she responded her voice was muffled, but understandable.

“I was afraid to see you.”

Jughead could have sworn she gripped him tighter before she pulled away, putting some feet of distance between them as she went to sit on the long sofa. He did not follow, wanting this entire interaction to happen on her terms, but he felt the coldness of her absence and he mourned the loss of her warmth.

“The day of the Feast of Promise, Kevin made me aware of rumours that have been humming their way through the township. Some of which included your prowess as a flirt,” Betty held his gaze, determined to analyze his reaction. He wanted to step towards her, but understood the aggressiveness of the act in this context. Feeling pressed by the question however, he moved to sit on the window ledge, crossing his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to fight the chill coming in through the open pane.

“Ah, Veronica made a mention of something during our conversation that night. That context lends clarity to the accusation.”

Betty looked sharply at him, and when she spoke it was clear and slow. “I require the unadorned truth, Jug.”

Jughead found himself nodding his head as he prepared himself for this conversation. He feared her reaction, but he wanted her to want all of him, blemishes and all.

“Do you remember me before I left the Allied Kingdoms?”

Betty looked at him in confusion, not understanding the beginning of his story, but she nodded, then offered him a small smile, “A tall bony shadow of boy.”

“And you were a sharp-tongued wisp of a girl,” Jughead retorted with a smirk.

A fleeting glint of mischief quirked at the corner of Betty’s lips, “But you did notice me.”

“One could say likewise.”

“Touché.”

The moment of shared teasing bolstered Jughead’s bravery as he continued, “I had never had any one look at me as an object of desire. But after I increased my training regimen, and muscles took hold, people’s behavior took a marked shift. As a prince, I was always gifted with a privileged amount of courtesy, but this was different. Every sir was given with a smile. Ladies would make excuses to engage with me. They would giggle and whisper when I passed. It was intoxicating, and I must admit Betty it felt powerful. More power than I had felt as the leader of the most feared army in the world.”

Jughead paused to take in Betty’s reaction. She was interested, and still, showing no signs of disappointment or dislike. Yet.

“Before I turned one and twenty, I took advantage of that power, flirting with the beautiful girls, and enjoying the small courtly intrigues and dramatics. I am not proud of any of these actions, but I did consistently refrain from making promises to these ladies or from pushing the flirtations past innocent diversions. If they started hinting at such futures, I made myself explicit that while we could enjoy our time together, such time would be fleeting and would undoubtedly end in a farewell.

Over a year ago now, there was a daughter of a baron, who was subject to these flirtations. Nothing stronger than a wink passed between the two of us, but after I had left, she apparently fell into a state of depressive sadness. The severity of which caused the Baron to threaten me with corporal punishment unless I married his, which I refused. As a prince no one questioned the dismissal.”

His tale incited a small gasp from Betty, urging Jughead to rush forward with the intent of offering comfort, but he hesitated halfway through the action, resulting in a few clumsy staggered steps forward. To his surprise, Betty held out her hand and gestured for him to join her on the sofa. He grasped her hand eagerly but maintained a respectful amount of distance between them as he continued.

“The girl has since recovered and is happily wed with a child on the way, but the guilt has stayed with me. I have tempered my behaviour since then. Not, admittedly ceasing the flirtations, but absolutely lessening the aggressiveness of them.”

Jughead stared at a faded patch on the sofa, preemptively sinking into the misery of Betty’s rejection he was certain was imminent. The soft and persistent stroke of her thumb on his palm however, pulled him from his sorrow as he looked into her concerned eyes.

“I appreciate your honesty.” Betty softly answered, she took a shaky breath and further tested that honesty.

“Am I a flirtation, Juggie?”

The tremor in her voice and the tears in her eyes tore him in half, and when he responded it was in a low guttural growl, “No. No Betty, you are and have always been more…” He wanted to add more to that statement. To say that all the flirtations before had been quick pecks to the cheek and suggestive comments, and that every touch, kiss, and whisper with her had been a novel experience. But he did not need to say those sentiments. Betty knew, and she proved her trust in him by placing her beautiful lips firmly on his own.

She pulled back, their parted lips still touching, as Jughead moved forward to recapture her, moving slowly to memorize the feel of her. His hands too, moved with a slow and deliberate pace, relishing the way her muscles moved as she pulled him closer.

She parted them and looked at him with satisfied, hooded eyes as he whispered over her lips, “Betty Cooper I have wanted to kiss you since you gifted me with that book at the inn.” Betty hummed in response, closing her eyes to relieve the memory, “A feeling that was reciprocated, I assure you.”

Hours or minutes passed lazily, their kisses more about discovery than want or need. The slow moving of lips and the delicious pressure of hands were enough for both, simply content to learn the feel of each other. Jughead discovered the exact spot on Betty’s neck that caused her to emit an adorable mewl, that Jughead had to refrain from responding to with a growl. Betty, in turn, found the bend of his lower back where if she ghosted her hands across, he would grip her tighter. Back and forth they traded the secrets of their bodies, languishing in each sigh and kiss.

They may have proceeded for longer in such a fashion, but a persistent cramp in Jughead’s legs precipitated a series of increasingly enticing moments. When Jughead shifted slightly to move pressure to his opposite leg, he lost his grip on Betty and she, fearing a loss of balance, dug her deceptively sharp nails into his shoulder, provoking Jughead to bite Betty’s lip with a hiss. He pulled back, for a moment, worried he had hurt her, but seeing the lust in her eyes, the mood shifted from slow deep embers to a hot dancing spark.

Betty grabbed Jughead’s face and kissed him with intent, sliding her tongue into his mouth as he grabbed her by the waist and laid her on the sofa, hovering over her body. Her hands were suddenly everywhere, his back, his arms, his chest. Jughead moved his own wandering hand to her thigh, moving his lips to her neck as she let out a delighted gasp. Betty’s hands were in Jughead’s hair and she let out a loud moan as she pulled Jughead closer, bringing their bodies flush together.

Jughead, during the acceleration of their kisses, had become increasingly aroused, a state, that now he was body to body with Betty, she was also keenly aware of, bringing the reality of their situation harshly back into focus.

“Betty...Betts...we have to stop…”

Trying to regain composure, Jughead staggered off Betty and stood, pacing backwards, going as far as moving to the chair opposite Betty, with a table between them for safety.

Betty too sat up, her lips swollen and hair disheveled. She bit her lip as she eyed Jughead’s lap, which made easing the situation more difficult. He grabbed a nearby throw pillow, and threw onto his lap, closing his eyes to block the vision before him. He tried to think of the most disgusting things he could: Archie’s misshapen toenails, fat Baron Hornsby’s goiter, his father’s thirty-year-old spit bottle. Feeling some relief, he opened his eyes to an amused Betty, still looking ravished and ravishing.

“You shall be the death of my lady.” Jughead’s voice was higher than he would have wished, but it seemed to entertain Betty all the same, as she lifted one eyebrow and peered at him.

“A little death?”

Jughead groaned. He stood, moving towards the door, knowing if he stayed, he would continue to make a fool of himself. “I must leave, Betts, for the hour is late, and you, apparently, are a viscous siren.”

She let out an evil giggle as she skipped towards him. Her mood for torture waned as she approached him however, her eyes softening and her mood shy.

“You will come to the study tomorrow still, yes?” There was a hint of uncertainty that rippled through Jughead and made his arms move towards her, pulling her close. His kissed her, this time slow, sweet, and far more chaste than their last caresses.

“Nothing shall keep me away,” she smiled as she pulled him in for one last brief kiss, holding his hand until he slipped out the door. Jughead watched with a growing smile as she slowly shut the door, keeping her face in view until the door was only slightly ajar.

“Goodnight...Prince Forsythe.” Betty giggled and closed the door, hearing the last tones of the giggle recede as she moved deeper into her room.

Jughead softly laid his head against the wood of the door, and before retreating to his own chambers whispered softly into its grains, “Goodnight...my love.”

***

Betty lay in bed staring at the painted ceiling, trying and failing to calm the smile on her face. Not that she was putting much effort into the endeavor, willfully surrendering to the soreness in her cheeks.

She was busy tracing her lips, reveling in the lasting feel of him when her door burst open and a feminine cry of “Betty!” caused her to jump from her bed and rush into her chamber’s sitting room to find a pacing Toni.

“Toni, are you well? You look so pale…”

Toni gave up the pacing and collapsed onto the lounge, putting her face into her hands, “I thought we had more time, more time to develop a plan…”

Betty surmised this had to do with the Forest Kingdom visit yesterday, she was concerned that Toni had not come to see her like she promised, but she had been otherwise distracted, by a certain prince. She did not have much time to feel guilty for her negligence as Toni continued with her cryptic speech.

“It has not even been a month and they have already sold her and the crown off…”

This, Betty immediately understood. She also understood the significance.

“Toni, they promised Cheryl’s hand in marriage? To whom?”

Her companion had resumed her pacing, and Betty had to physically grab her by the shoulders to regain her attention.

“Toni, who have they promised her to?”

She knew she should be giving Toni comfort, and she planned to do just that, but in her bones, she knew the answer to this question was paramount.

Toni was shaking her head trying to remember, “Some boy from a rich Western family…”. After several seconds, the brightness of realization illuminated Toni’s face as she looked up to Betty’s widened green eyes.

“His name is St. Clair. Nicholas St. Clair.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUUUNNNNNN.
> 
> Again sorry for the typos, I'll get them in the big review over Xmas...but like I could not read this chapter again, even though I now love it. I couldn't.
> 
> I wanna shout out to some wonderful people who got me through the dramatics of me hating the early versions of this chapter, but I did not clear it with them first so I won't mention them by (screen)name...but you know who you are (and I will give you public kudos next chapter if that's cool with you :) )
> 
> GAME TIME: I am so punchy today friends, so rather than tell you the allusions in this chapter will shall make it interactive with prizes...BECAUSE WHY NOT. There are heavy handed allusions to a musical and movie in this chap. If you can (or more correctly want to) name them both, message me on tumblr (@kesleyjo) or send me an ask if you want to stay anonymous and I will answer a (non-spoilery) question of your choice or give you a spoiler/teaser of my choice. Let me know what you prefer if ya feel like playing.
> 
> As always I have so much fun hearing your thoughts and interacting with you wonderful people who take the time to read this crazy (long) story. Have a spectacular day!


	11. Unlocked Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! 
> 
> Possible trigger warning for this chapter. I describe an attempted sexual assault in the beginning of this chap, I would say the severity of the content is not graphic and similar to the depiction of Cheryl's attempted assault in the Riverdale canon. If you wish to skip that part, stop reading at "Veronica had a split second where her reaction was uncontrolled, .." and restart about 1000 words down at "“I grew up with Nicholas St. Clair....”"
> 
> As always this is (poorly) self-edited

Rising before the sun was detrimental both toward Veronica’s constitution and to her general mood for the forthcoming day. It was no coincidence that her last early morning encounter with Archie resulted in a verbal assault and a foul mood that persisted throughout the rest of the day, and to be frank, through the rest of the week.

This morning however, just after the morning seven bells chimed, Veronica was filled with too many nerves to enjoy the rest of her sleep, rousing her from slumber and aggravating her no doubt puffy eyes and sallow complexion. A daughter should be thrilled to see her parents after a long separation. If this were one of those stage productions of the Western theatres, she would imagine how such a scene should play out. Her father would walk through the grand hall of the castle entrance, see her, and run to her voicing endearments, which her mother would reciprocate, all while looking lovingly at her husband doting on his daughter.

Their scene would play more as a tragedy. 

A persistent knocking shook Veronica out of her reverie, and she waited for the early incoming guests to enter the room. She hoped it to be Betty, a friendly ear to listen and a kind voice to ease her agitation. It was a likelihood, since her friend had a baffling habit of rising at obscene morning hours. The knocking ceased and repeated, and Veronica let out a huff of frustration and growled toward her sitting room, “Ginger, have you grown incompetent overnight?”

The sour maid peered into her room and softly and rather saucily answered, “I believed you wished for more rest to preserve one’s beauty, Miss Lodge.” The brat knew she was awake and no one’s beauty was being preserved at this ungodly hour.

“Ginger, if you appreciate your employment for my father and the benefits it gives you, perform your duties as assigned. Or my father shall be informed who had been pilfering the silver candlesticks for spare currency.”

Ginger blanched and all former vestiges of smugness evaporated from her face as she scurried to answer the door. Veronica revelled in the small accomplishment, always gaining pure joy out piercing cocky egos. A minute later the chastised maid returned, and announced the arrival of Lady Cooper and a guest. Veronica quirked an eyebrow and tied the sash tighter around her dressing gown. If Betty had been alone, she hoped she would feel comfortable enough entering her chambers unannounced, and if the guest had been Kevin, she was sure that would not have stopped her either. 

Stepping into the sitting room, she eyed Betty immediately, sitting on the sofa aside a rather distraught looking Serpent knight. Veronica recognized her from the night of Jughead and Betty’s flight from the castle, but the easy confidence she wore looked battle worn and weary. The entire tableau peaked Veronica’s interest and stoked her worry. She sat herself in front of her friend and the knight, and gave the beautiful woman a kind smile.

“I remember you from the night of the storm, Antoinette, is it?”

Toni flashed a ghost of a smile, “Toni, Miss Lodge.”

“Then I insist you call me, Veronica. I gather since we are all due in the great hall in an hours time, your presence here is to relay sensitive information.” Veronica kept her voice soft, there was enough distress present, and she did not need to exacerbate those feelings, though she herself felt the unease build.

Betty’s eyes never left Toni, and Veronica believed she spied a quick reassuring squeeze from their blonde friend, as Toni took a deep steadying breath, and quietly relayed her story.

“I am unsure if you are aware, but I have been in  a relationship with Princess Cheryl for almost half a decade.” Toni shot a challenging glance towards Veronica. Though same sex relationships were completely common throughout the world, there were still pockets of prejudice, particularly in the Western Free States. Veronica however made no indication of distress, rather softened her features in sympathy, understanding the path this conversation was about to travel.

“As the second child, we had hope that once Jason was married and had produced multiple heirs, her family would allow our marriage, our at least cease protestations to a more permanent union.” Toni deflated slightly and added more to herself, as if wallowing in her resignation, “Even then, I doubt her hateful parents would have allowed an alliance to a fortuneless Serpent, regardless of my status as knight.”

“Her parents are cruel, for not wanting their daughter to be with the person who loves her,” Veronica offered, soothing Toni enough to ease her obvious nerves. For the first time since they sat on the sofa, Betty chanced a glance toward Veronica, her gaze was thankful. 

“After the announcement of Betty’s succession two days past, I requested the task of relaying the news to the Forest Kingdom, of course to see Cher, but also to gauge the atmosphere of the Forest Kingdom. Betty, who enjoys a close friendship with the princess,” Betty nodded, needlessly confirming the statement, “and I both had been receiving sparse communication from Cher, and it was been a particular point of concern between us.

“When I arrived, Cher greeted me at the Thornhill Castle entrance, as always, but she warned me to be act more...obliging...than usual. She herself seemed on edge, less open. I relayed the message I was dispatched to send to the entire Blossom clan, and afterward they asked me to stay for the evening meal. I agreed, thinking that the three hours interrupting the time of that question and the meal would give me ample opportunity to discuss the goings on with my lady.” Toni stopped for a moment, and asked for a glass of water, which Veronica insisted an eavesdropping Ginger provide immediately. Betty waved off a goblet of her own, and Veronica sent Ginger on a fruitless errand that would take her out of the chambers, much to pouting maid’s disappointment. With just Betty, Toni and Veronica presiding in the sitting room, Toni took a shaking breath, nearing the emotional apex of her story.

“She avoided me, she was in none of her, or our, usual spots, and when I finally spotted her in the hallway she fled to her room and locked me out. She yelled through the door that I would hold her love for an eternity but at that moment she required solitude. How absurd is such a statement…” Toni trailed off with an audible huff of frustration, refocusing herself. “During the evening meal, King Clifford made casual mention of his annoyance with the upcoming River Kingdom royal wedding, and the damper it places upon their own upcoming royal nuptials. Clifford looked positively smug, and Cheryl – our Cheryl! – simply stood by as a passive participant.”

Betty delicately supplied an explanation to such a statement, “Cheryl does not bend, not for her parents, not for Jason, and not even for Toni.”

Veronica glanced between the two women before her, surprised at their candor, and confused as to its purpose, “I am grateful you have trusted me with such sensitive matters, but may I ask the reason for such disclosure?”

Toni glanced pleadingly at Betty, having reached her emotional capacity to share further. “We are hoping you have information for us,” Betty began, “Regarding Cheryl’s betrothed. He is also from the Western free states, and a wealthy family, and we were inclined to believe you may have some knowledge of the man and his family.”

“Of course, who is the betrothed?”

“Nicholas St. Clair.” It was Toni who answered the question, airing the response with equal parts curiosity and vitriol.

Veronica had a split second where her reaction was uncontrolled, her jaw twitched and her eyes flinched, but the moment passed so quickly she was hoping her companions would question whether they had seen such a motion at all.

Since infancy her family had been aligned with the St. Clairs. Not a week unfolded without a St. Clair or two appearing between the creases of the days. Nicky had been her closest confidante and friend, growing up and learning the manipulation of Western business together. In the past several years, however, her friend embraced the more sinister and vulgar parts of the luxurious life that they were privileged to lead. When they were seventeen, his behaviour, which previously could be interpreted as troubling but dismissively roguish, reached its nadir. At a meeting of some the more prominent families, housed at Nicky’s lavish manor, the half a dozen or so children of the various families theived a liquor bottle each, and absconded to a far parlor, away from the hypocritically judgemental eyes of their parents. 

Several hours of merriment followed, and while Veronica partook in the enjoyment of wine, she was full of enough mistrust toward her companions to keep her wits functionally intact. As they devolved into bacchanalia, Veronica spied a young companion far tipsier than her liquor intake would inspire. Like a predator, Nicky watched her, waiting for her to completely succumb to the influence of whatever poison was constricting her mind and faculties. Veronica did not let her attention veer from the girl, but after Nicky sent a distraction in the form of a drunken boy who pawed at Veronica, Nicky led the sheep of a girl out to a separate bedroom. 

She found the room quickly and by sheer luck, before Nicky could fully enact the horrors of his plan. At least any more horror than had already been unleashed. She struck him several times, but was more concerned with getting the girl to safety than to cause any real damage to the villain. After the girl had been delivered to her parents, Veronica lost her voice in the shouting match that followed with Nicky, though he had appeared nonplussed over her rage. Sometimes, his final words to her still showed up in the occasional nightmare.

“She would have wanted me if I pursued her the natural way, but this was less tiring. Has your father not taught you the key to business? Efficiency, Veronica.”

They had not spoken since that night, by Veronica’s own designs, but that did not keep the stories from reaching Veronica. Whispers of similar stories that did not end with a brunette barging in on Nicky’s activities. She had also heard rumours of his use of physical force instead of relying on illicit substances, to prove his power. Every time such a tale reached Veronica it made her stomach churn.

But to tell these women before her that their friend was doomed to tie herself in life to a monster was out of Veronica’s capabilities, but neither could she lie.

“I grew up with Nicholas St. Clair. We were close friends for many years. That friendship has now irrevocably been dissolved.”

The three women sat with the finality of Veronica’s declaration hanging above them. 

Betty was the first to move, Veronica watching as Betty carefully moved her other hand atop her and Toni’s already joined grip. “Toni, before we came to Veronica we were set on preventing this marriage from taking place, this only strengthens that drive.”

Toni stood, physically separating herself from Betty by moving behind the couch, “And what plot have you devised to accomplish such a task? The St. Clair’s are a wealthy family, correct?” On her last word, Toni’s eyes snapped to Veronica, and she managed a terse nod before Toni continued on her spiral, “How do we stop such a display of power?”

Betty made a motion to stand, but Toni stopped her with her hand, “Betty, I know you wish to help, and we will speak on this later, but allow me my dramatics in this moment.” Not waiting for further rebuttal, Toni fled the room, barking at several maids as she moved swiftly down the halls.

Veronica’s gaze stayed steadily on Betty, who was looking adrift in the current of the visit’s events. When she finally looked to Veronica, there were tears in her eyes. “I told her I would devise a plan. I am supposed to the clever girl, the creative thinker, and I am at a loss.”

Not being able to tolerate her friend’s misery any longer, Veronica crossed the short distance to the sofa, wrapping one arm around Betty’s waist, pulling her into a half embrace, while grasping her hand with the other. Veronica expected the embrace to trigger the emotion that Betty was fighting to control, but instead it gave her the strength to blink away her tears and face Veronica with determination in her eyes. “Veronica, I need you to tell me why, in precise detail, your friendship with Nick ended.”

Veronica gripped Betty’s hand a little tighter, but fulfilled the request, telling the story of the boy who used to be her friend as devoid of emotion as she was able. To her credit, Betty’s face remained neutral, only betraying her true feelings in small bursts of unchecked reaction.

“Of all the rich families to align themselves with…” Betty whispered as Veronica reached the conclusion of her story.

The way that Betty phrased her statement irritated an idea in Veronica’s mind. “They are wealthy, this is true, but the St. Clairs can claim less than half of my parent’s fortune, and my father had to nearly relocate a mountain to convince King Frederick to align with the River Kingdom’s rogue free families. It is strange that another elitist Allied royal would sully their prominent bloodline with rich, but common-tainted westerners.”

Betty raised her eyebrows toward Veronica at the thinly disguised rant.

Veronica was going to apologize, but she knew it would ring hollow. As an outsider, Veronica was acutely aware of the superiority that the Allied Kingdoms held in the eyes of the world, earned or no, but the resentment for that condescension ran deep. Knowing her friend to be an exception of that attitude she asked, “Are the Blossom’s as in need of an influx of wealth as deeply as the River Kingdom?”

Betty’s brow furrowed, “They had been falling into steep debt, but they have recently come into wealth again. They, are deeply preoccupied with status, a hundredfold times moreso than Fred would be...” Betty shifted towards Veronica, but her focus was distant, lost in the race of her thoughts, “What business are the St. Clair’s connected with?”

Not the question Veronica expected, it took her a few breaths to respond, “They, much like the lion’s share of the wealthy Western family grew their wealth on the ownership of property and the development of that land. However over the past several years, as my father neared towards a universal hold on the York land, they took a foray into other business. Based on the sudden increase of wealth, I am thinking a business venture of the more nefarious sort.”

A spark of realization lit Betty’s face, and she bit her lip as she leaned back to the couch, her face and mind still far away from the room in which they sat.

“B, what are you thinking?”

“Something about the case...I do not wish to share until I am certain.”  She sat forward in a jerking motion, and then quickly stood just as hastily. “I need to speak with Cheryl,” she rolled her eyes and groaned, “And with my mother.”

“Given that problem, we should proceed to the entrance hall, the procession with both of those ladies will be starting soon.”

The two women exited the sitting room arm and arm, efficiently making their way towards the entrance hall. As women of high rank both present and future, they were given seats at a raised dais that ran alongside the hall where the members of court would be entering. The doors were still closed, but the rumble of awaiting guests continued to increase in its intensity. Their male companions on the dais, the princes and King Frederick had yet to arrive, so the women were afforded a modicum of privacy for the moment. Veronica took advantage of this and leaned over to Betty, who turned her ear towards her to ease her whisper. 

“Betty, you recognize that I...I am not an investigative mind...however if you uncover a truth…”

Betty sharply turned her head towards Veronica, “V, I swear, once there is anything of veracity to share, you will be informed. I do not make it a habit to keep secrets from friends.” The smile that Betty gave Veronica inspired a rapid blinking of her eyes in a futile attempt to hide her emotion.

Not wanting to dwell on her self doubt for a moment longer, Veronica raised her voice so bent ears were no longer necessary and laughed, gesturing towards the increasing crowd before. 

“Well then let the spectacle begin!”

***

The beginning of the processional was approximately one and one half bell changes too long. The lesser nobility from the various estates in all the Allied Kingdoms, took their time to flaunt their superiority, wealth and stature in front of the assembled crowd, and were not too keen to relinquish the spotlight. So although only courtiers who held marquisates and duchies were permitted to participate in the promenade, it had been driven past the point of entertainment. As the highest ranking nobility started to arrive, the crowd had shifted from tittering gossipy delight into tightly wound agitation and anticipation. The last of the Allied landowning nobility, was of course Alice Cooper, and the entirety of the kingdom held their breath as she and her cadre of maids entered the hall.

This was the first public appearance of the duchess since the murder at her duchy, now a month past. Since then, her husband had been accused of murder and had effectively left her, and increasing their curiosity she had locked herself in a convent with her eldest daughter, a figure also shrouded in mystery. The crowd’s mood was akin to a group of starved predators bearing down on an injured fawn.

Unfortunately for their appetites, Alice Cooper was anything but cooperative.

Gasps sounded in breaths through the hall, as all other speech was robbed from the gawkers. Only one solitary groan from the dais holding the young Lady Cooper broke through the stunned silence.

She was wearing black, the universal color of mourning, but the dress’ conservative qualities ended with its subdued color. The dress was cut low into a deep plunge, and there was a slit cut into the entirety of the skirt. It was clearly meant to be worn over another more substantial shift, but Duchess Cooper forewent such standard, showing more skin than was appropriate in any public (and some might argue, private) setting. Alice Cooper did not spare one glance at the crowd as she passed, holding her head high and keeping a small smirk on her face. She had crossed the entire hall and into the corridor to be escorted to her guest chambers without the next party entering, unsurprising given it was their debut in royal society, and they wished for the focus to be entirely on their presence.

Much like Alice Cooper before them, Hiram and Hermione Lodge did not spare a glance at the crowd, but unlike the previous parader, they seemed intent on gaining gossip and audible reaction from their walk of presentation. Hiram Lodge was dressed rather simply in neutral trousers and tunic, but the coat he was sporting was an intricate design of multiple animal skins and furs carefully and artfully constructed to fall gracefully around him. The brightness of the fur contrasted with his dark coloring, complimenting both him and his lavish coat. While he was a spectacle, it was clear his most prominent display of wealth was his wife, startling in her resemblance to her beautiful daughter. She was wearing a formal gown embedded with diamonds, the bodice itself betrayed no hint of fabric beneath its stones. Her headdress and veil too were embellished with rubies and sapphires. As if that did not display enough opulence, her wrists and neck were under strain from the weight of dozens of gold bangles and cords. It was not a subtle display but the message was clear to the elitists in the Allied Kingdoms.

They may be without rank, but they outshone everyone in fortune. A statement they were keen on the gossip mill churning with fervor until it flooded the kingdom.

There were only two more parties to be announced and paraded through the hall, that of the remaining royal Allied families and the crowd waited, hoping the next entrants would be the more compelling of the two. As the doors opened, a gust of deflation breathed through the masse, although it bared no consequence on the man who inspired it.

As King Forsythe Pendleton Jones II entered the hall, he did so swiftly and without ceremony, finding faces in the crowd and greeting them with terse nods of recognition. His longest gaze was reserved for his son, whom he spotted next to Prince Archibald on the raised dais. The dark haired prince gave his father a slight bow, the silver crown catching the light to draw attention to his courtesy. His father smiled, but wasted no more time on what he perceived to be a pointless spectacle.

The last family, though of course well known in the River Kingdom, held some morbid curiosity to the gathered onlookers. Like the Duchess before them, the Blossoms had not been seen publicly, even in their own kingdom, since their son’s violent end. Their sizable entourage moved like the sweet syrup they used to manufacture in their kingdom. They were cloaked in all black, as their mourning period required, but whereas the Lodges dripped themselves in wealth, the Blossoms were draped in red. Their hair, their jewelry, their accents, everything was shaded crimson.

Murmurs rushed through the crowd upon espying a familial trio accompanying the Blossoms in a position of honor. The murmur swelled to a buzz upon seeing the young man, the son of the family presumably, paired with a grave, but endlessly fierce Princess Cheryl. The redhead kept one hand gingerly on the crook of her companion’s arm as they made their way through the entrance hall. Immediately upon their exit, the masse broke out into excited titters, erupting into chaos as the group struggled to both return to their daily lives and find their friends to compare salacious rumours.

All the better for the crowd to share their merriment, as not one soul, save a curious dark haired prince, noticed the Lady Cooper flee after the freshly departed Blossoms, nor did they hear Cheryl’s brief, but potent vitriolic speech directed at her equally poisonous family.

***

“Cheryl!”

Betty had chased Cheryl down a long corridor away from the entrance hall, or more aptly away from the rest of the Blossoms. Cheryl’s family had wanted her to greet the other courtiers and announce her engagement to the St. Clairs, but Cheryl wanted nothing of that spectacle. Instead she performed her own tantrum, the last barbs of which Betty barely overheard as Cheryl tore away from them, down the hallway where Betty was now in pursuit.

“Cheryl, please stop fleeing from me, you cannot hide away from me forever!”

Cheryl tossed a look and a scoff back toward Betty, but continued her swift pace, taking a sharp left turn down a narrow corridor Betty was not familiar with, and into a small anteroom one would not find unless they were already aware of its existence. The anteroom contained an ornately carved grate on the far side of the wall, and Betty shook her head with recognition. This room overlooked the hall where the Allied summits took place, and everything said would easily be overheard without knowing so from this room. Betty was no longer surprised as to Cheryl’s previous knowledge of the secret room, the woman held more secrets than Kevin.

“I was not fleeing from you Sweet Betty, merely taking the opportunity to seize our privacy while the maids were otherwise distracted. If your endurance is already waning before you reach your twentieth year, that might be an area in which you need self-improvement.”

Betty though deeply unamused by Cheryl’s statement was keenly aware that her friend was physically in front of her for the first time in months. She was thinner, and pang shot through Betty as she acknowledged such weight loss was most likely self-inflicted, a way to retain control over a life on a spiral. Despite the dire and troublesome situations on which she needed to question Cheryl, and despite her anger towards her friend regarding the treatment of Toni, having her here in front of her was oddly overwhelming.

With tears in her eyes, she reached out and pulled Cheryl into a tight embrace, her bones oddly pronounced under her skin. Cheryl resisted to the hold initially, but she returned the reaction tenfold, holding onto Betty after her first attempt to end the embrace.

Having sufficiently displayed her love for her friend, Betty wasted no more time. “Why exactly are you marrying an abusive lech, Cher?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes and gave a beleaguered sigh, as if relating the intricacies of the Forest Kingdom marriage politics was a waste of time that Betty’s investigative mind should have already uncovered.

“Bribery and threats I suspect, the exact details of which I need your assistance uncovering. I either agree to marry Nicholas, or some dreadful event of indeterminate nature will befall the kingdom. I have yet to uncover what that may be, but the seriousness of my parents’ threats were enough to convince me of the veracity of the danger.” Before Betty could counter, Cheryl added with a steel edge to her voice,  “The Forest Kingdom is mine, sweet Betty, I will protect its people with all I have. I will not allow it to fall into the hands of outsiders unchecked.”

Betty added no vocal response, rather raised her hands in deference and respect toward Cheryl’s declaration. Convinced that her friend understood the seriousness of her threats, she softened and continued, “I do not, however, wish to actually marry that mannerless cretin, so if we could solve this little mystery in a timely fashion that would be highly preferred.”

Betty let out a frustrated sigh, “Any particular reason you did not share these feelings with, Toni, who is miserable by the way.”

Cheryl winced and turned her cheek as if she had been physically rather than verbally slapped by Betty, but her voice did not cower, “My parents needed to be convinced to my dedication to this plan, slighting Toni was the most efficient way to accomplish that goal. Since Toni’s visit to Thornhill they are less careful in their speech around me, and less watchful of my whereabouts. Please trust that intend to find Tee the moment I leave you. But have faith Betty, she and I are not easily broken.”

Mildly chastised, Betty changed the subject, sensing that their conversation could not be a lengthy discussion, “About our mystery, I have a theory, but I need to ask you what you know of your father’s financial accounts, and what business he has been conducting with the St. Clairs.”

Cheryl nodded, expecting the query but her eyebrows were knit in frustration, “I am afraid I have little to uncover, they have been spending a suspicious amount of time out in the kingdom proper, surveying kingdom held land. I also subjected myself to an unpleasant conversation with my unfortunate fiance, where he made it clear that they do not make their money in the distribution and trade of parchment.”

Betty grasped Cheryl, remembering her conversation that morning with Veronica, “Is it possible that your parents and the St. Clairs are pursuing a less than moral pursuit together??”

Cheryl glanced at Betty plainly, “My brother was murdered, your father was run out of town, I am being sold in marriage, and my father had a secret ledger filled with “unspecified payments” the details of which have been purposely hidden. Yes, Betty. I will venture a hunch that they are solemnly up to no good. I doubt they are out in the fields and forests talking to the animals.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Betty gasped, and started grasping at the air around her, a clue so close to her mind she could sense but not quite catch it. Cheryl was amused, but made it clear she had other places she must be.

“Leave the dramatics to me Betty, I must spend my afternoon and, god willing, evening convincing Toni of my remorse,” Chery’s tone was serious but she lifted her eyebrows slyly indicating the method of convincing she meant to employ, “But I expect a full report on whichever theory is materializing in that beautiful golden head of yours in the morrow.”

Betty ignored Cheryl’s uncomfortable innuendo and simply asked, “And where and when shall I meet you?”

Cheryl had already started her flight back through the narrow corridor, and paused only briefly to send Betty a look of amused condescension, as if Betty should already know where and when their next conversation would take place, and she spared no further time to enlighten Betty of said plan.

Betty sighed irritated, but not doubtful of Cheryl’s ultimate plans.

Besides, she had a much more unpleasant task to undertake that demanded her focus. 

Heading towards the main hall, she found many members of the endless castle staff dispersing the mountain of belongs to the respective chamber suites of recently arrived courtiers. It was a complicated, but effective enterprise, and though she was loathe to disrupt such an efficiently designed system, speaking with the woman directing the delivery was the most effective way to accomplish her own goal.

Since becoming Lady Cooper, Betty noticed that even if it was an incredible inconvenience for those around her, people, ranked or no, fell over themselves to be of assistance. This was no different. As she approached, the woman barking orders ceased, and immediately an amiable smile appeared at her lips. Those working around her stalled, and waited patiently, masking their annoyance if indeed they felt any. 

She made her errand quick, even if she carried out her next task as slowly as possible. Apparently her mother had been assigned chambers incredibly far away from her own, and while she appreciated whichever maid had the foresight to manipulate such an arrangement, it elongated her task as a stop at her own chambers was necessary first.

It had been near an hour since her mother’s grand entrance in the hall when Betty knocked on her chamber door. The wood creaked open to revealed Adalae Weavley, a young maid from their duchy who was part of her mother’s personal attendants. Addy gave Betty a meek smile, and immediately granted her entry into the chamber. Her mother’s assigned rooms were of some of the best in the castle, but in one of the worst locations, with closed off views from the windows and significant distance from the most used common rooms.

Swanning out of her bedchamber, her mother made a remark as to that fact, as she greeted Betty with a kiss and an embrace. She had changed into a gown far more appropriate for public use, and Betty was grateful that her mother did not intend to make a permanent shift in her dress taste. Betty followed her mother to the sitting area and took a seat across from Alice, setting her satchel down and taking care to confirm that the contents remained hidden for the moment.

“Mother, how was the Sisters?”

“Quiet. Mercifully. It was nice to have reflection during such a dreadful time. Polly sends you her warmest regards.” Alice sat back and took a sip of the tea that had appeared.

Betty stiffened, “I wish I could return the sentiments in person.” She stared pointedly at her mother, not allowing her glare to waver. 

Alice rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Oh really, Betty, I believe we have had enough of this conversation.”

“That would imply that this conversation has actually occurred, and yet you have marooned me here in this castle, with a perfunctory letter, detailing nothing of value, every week. This,” Betty gestured in the significant empty space between her and her mother, “is the first proper conversation we have had since you absconded to the convent with Polly, whom, it bears repeating you refuse to let me see. Once she becomes a Sister, she can approve my visits on her own. What precisely will you do then to keep us parted?”

Alice, though annoyed, did not seem surprised by her daughter’s outburst. “I am not hiding Polly from you Betty, but this delicate situation needs the benefit of time and distance to ease its burdens.”

Betty stood pacing towards her mother, “You are concealing truths mother, truths that could help us solve this murder. Do you not wish to know the identity of the men or women who tried to kill your daughter? Or did father already inform you of the culprit’s identity?”

Alice’s mouth dropped, and when she spoke her tone was grave, “What are you speaking of Betty?”

Betty reached for the satchel so viciously that her father’s letter spilled from the sack. As Betty pulled out the lockbox, her mother grabbed the letter and began the perusal of its contents, her face still in a carefully practiced mask, guarded from any reveals, which only worked to further fluster Betty. Alice was aggravating in her inability to be ruffled.

“I have been conducting an investigation separate from the Constable, who, consequently, is convinced that  _ your _ husband committed this crime, though we both comprehend that to be a falsehood. I stand alone in my pursuit for who tried to harm Polly. A person who still may try again, as the motivation for this crime remains a mystery.” Betty lowered the tone of her voice. Although she knew her mother was not going to aid in her pursuit, her next query would be better received with a kind voice, “I implore you to open the lockbox and share the contents with me.” She, of course, stood with Jughead in this investigation, but she had a base instinct that hinted sharing such information would be received poorly by her mother.

Alice looked up from the letter, and with careful deliberation folded it into a neat square, each fold seeming to refocus her temper and her nerve. As she pinched the last crease together, her mouth mirrored the action, tucking into a firm line. She tucked the letter into the folds of her shift, and slowly and deliberately took a slow sip of tea. When she met her daughter’s gaze again, her glance was icy.

“Elizabeth Cooper. You are heir to the richest duchy in all the Allied Kingdoms, and you are a gentlewoman’s daughter. I forbid you to continue this investigation. The entirety of a month has passed since the incident, and your sister remains safe, unharmed, and I must stress, guarded at the Sisters. Pray, even if you uncover this secret, with what proof will you use to prosecute the criminal, by your own admission, the Constable has closed this case.”

Her mother was baiting her. For whatever cause, her mother wished to know what information Betty already possessed, probably so she could seek and destroy such evidence. 

“Unlock the box, and we will discover exactly what proof we will obtain.”

“What is in the is box has no bearing on the murder of Jason Blossom.”

The room stilled, and Betty had to remember to breathe. “You already know what the contents, do you not?”

Alice picked up the box and held it possessively in her grasp. “I have my suspicions, Elizabeth. Now if you will excuse me, I wish to rest before dinner.”

“It is barely eleven bells, mother.”

“Wonderful, then I have an abundance of time.  I will expect your presence by my side at dinner tonight Elizabeth, and we shall speak no more of this. I cannot fathom how I can make myself more plain.”

Her mother turned to her bedchamber, and Betty, not wanting to say something she may mean, but would later regret, stormed out of the room and fled straight to her and Jughead’s study.

Once she reached the privacy of the chamber, she allowed herself one stifled groan before turning to face the sheet, trying to match the new information, or lack thereof, to the timeline presented before her. Truths and understandings had been coming and going through her mind all morning, but she could not bring any one of them to fruition. She needed to make sense of the confused bits of information in her mind.

Nick St. Clairs drug fuelled villainy. The visits of the Blossoms and the St. Clairs into the Forest Kingdoms lands. The arranged marriage. The payments. 

Although mindlessly gazing at their construction, her gaze kept falling onto one particular piece of pinned parchment. Much like the tumbling combination she constructed into the lockbox, several thoughts and ideas slid into place, making a full conclusion out of seeming disconnected parts. 

Betty let out a gasp, but did not wait for another second for the realization to fade, she grabbed the nearest quill and parchment and began to scratch upon its surface.

***

Jughead entered the room, to a pacing a Betty who was muttering under her breath, and adding hastily torn and scratched upon pieces of fabric to their investigation tapestry. She looked rapturous in the throes of her intelligence, and it took his breath away, as he watched her for several moments, not wanting to derail her progress. 

Betty stepped back to survey her work, and as if she could finally sense she was no longer alone, she spun around; upon seeing Jughead, her face broke out in a wide smile that stopped his heart. She restarted it again by racing into his arms and giving him a swift kiss to the lips before taking him by the hand to stand before the sheet.

“Jughead, I believe I have our first real lead. I think I know what the Blossoms are hiding.”

Releasing his hand, Betty moved in front of the sheet, stretching out her hands as if she were going to conduct the evidence to sing in some version of a Western symphony. Immediately missing the contact, Jughead stepped behind her and put a tentative hand on her waist, testing her reaction. She leaned back into him, and he let out an exhale in relief as he held her tighter.

“Cheryl is betrothed to the son of wealthy, but not particularly prominent Western family, the St. Clairs.”

He had been informed of that fact after the grand entrance of the Blossoms earlier that morning, but was unaware of the significance of the betrothal. He had incorrectly assumed that the match had long since been planned. Confused Jughead searched their clues for the link but could not discover it yet, “The Blossoms would never degregate the family line unless the stakes were considerably raised.”

“I disapprove on your verbiage, but yes I admit I thought the same thing. According to Veronica the St. Clairs do not have near enough money to tempt the Blossoms into an alliance of marriage. Which of course raises the the question why exactly they would tie themselves and their bloodline to life to such a low ranking family?”

Jughead felt piece of intelligence gain footing in his brain as he gripped Betty’s hips tighter, “The shipments!”

Betty spun around and placed a quick but firm kiss to Jughead’s lips before she turned back around toward the sheet. Jughead replaced his hands on her waist and smiled to himself. If kisses were how he was rewarded for being intelligent he would certainly have to perfect his cleverness.

“Precisely! I am guessing the shipments were from the Blossoms to the St. Clairs, and the St. Clairs sent payment in return.” Betty turned to face Jughead and she wrapped her arms around his lower back, and quirked a lopsided grin up at him, “And I think I know what they were hiding.”

Jughead raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate further, though she stayed silent. Sensing her tease, Jughead raised his hands to her ribcage and gave her a painless pinch that elicited a high pitched squeal from his girl. She tried to escape but he pulled her tighter and closer, his heart racing with the excuse to touch her and pull her close. “Reveal your secrets, Betts.”

It took a moment for Betty to regain her steady breathing, but once she did she gripped Jughead’s upper arms and wrested control of the conversation away from him.

“Poppy flowers. The were sending poppy flowers.”

Jughead did not follow and Betty stepped back, needing full range of motion to display her genius to Jughead.

“Veronica revealed that the youngest St. Clair had dabbled into the  use of illicit substances. She also mentioned that his family had retained wealth despite decreasing ventures into more legitimate business dealings.”

Betty gestured towards a piece of parchment that he had not noticed before, that, if he could read the rushed script correctly, declared, “odd harvests.”

“On the border between my duchy’s land and the Forest Kingdom is a field of poppies, mostly unused though sometimes it is harvested to make painkillers for healing practices. Some of our workers noticed an unusually large harvest of the poppy field at odd hours about a four months ago. Odd because of the hour, and also odd because the Forest Kingdom is covered with two goods. Poppy and forest. If they were desperate enough to harvest from a fringe field in view of a rival landowner…”

“They must have been in significant need of a crop. Holy hell, Betts. What does this have to do with Jason’s murder.”

Betty deflated only slightly, “I have not yet conjured that answer, but you agree they must be connected, Jug? Cheryl believes as much.”

“Obviously they are connected, it would be too coincidental for them not to be.” Jughead moved to the sheet glancing at their list of suspects. Betty had added the St. Clairs to the list and connected them with a string to the Blossoms. The Blossoms had to be involved, but there were still too many pieces unaccounted for.

“The mystery payment before Jason’s death, seemed to be the right amount for a dowry, yes?” Jughead asked and Betty regarded him carefully, turning the question over in her mind. “For the rights to an Allied kingdom, yes, certainly, though that would suggest the Blossoms or the St. Clairs had Jason killed in order for the marriage and future heirs to hold legitimacy. But that feels wrong somehow…” Betty trailed off trying to make sense of the mess that lay before them. 

“I am also finding it difficult to convince myself that the Blossoms killed off their only son so that the daughter they barely tolerate or control could become queen. Nor would I think they would align themselves with a family who murdered their heir.”

Nodding, Betty wrapped her arms around Jughead, as she moved closer to him, “I do not know what Trevor will bring to us to substantiate or illuminate these claims, but I know now that I must speak to Polly, she might have some insight into what Jason knew of this situation. She is our best witness to uncover a motive. We will not be able to make any sense of this until we know why Jason was killed. And how that is connected to all this...conspiracy.”

Feeling as if she were placating him, he countered, “I am sensing permission to see Polly will not be coming from your mother?” 

Throwing back her head and letting out a frustrated groan, Betty detailed to Jughead the entire encounter with Alice Cooper. After her revealing entrance that morning, it did little to inspire his awe, and more to inspire his fear. While he had no intention of ever harming her daughter, he caught the distinct impression that he would be parted with a body part at the hand of the Duchess.

Betty was lamenting the loss of the lockbox, a blow Jughead also keenly felt,  and wanting to ease her agitation, Jughead had grasped Betty’s hand and began tracing circles with his thumb upon her wrist.

“Juggie, we will be lucky if we ever find out what is inside that lockbox. At the very least we must decipher what is in Polly’s head and heart.”

Jughead squared himself to her and asked, “I am assuming the royals can permit such entrance into a convent?”

Betty nodded gravely, “Fred most likely will defer to my mother’s ridiculous judgement which means I shall have to rely on the Prince to grant amnesty for entrance into the convent.”

“Permit me to ask him for you, he and I have mended our bond, it shall be no trouble,” even as Jughead voiced it Betty was shaking her head.

“Only females are permitted into the convent to visit those who are not sisters, I cannot ask you to fight this battle for me, Jug, I have avoided Archibald for far too long.”

Jughead tensed and his voice was dark when he replied, “Perhaps this will give him the opportunity deliver a long overdue apology to you, my lady.” His voice was too tense, and even he could hear the suspicious tenor of its tone. His companion, as he was well aware, was far too sharp to ignore such an obvious annoyance.

“Jughead, I do not harbour, nor have I ever harboured feelings for Archibald Andrews.” Jughead still could not meet her glance and she forced him to meet her gaze by a gentle pressure underneath his chin. “My amorous thoughts are reserved for another prince entirely,”

She took his mouth then, tentatively at first, but meeting no hesitation, continued with more passion, which Jughead was more than happy to reciprocate. He drew her into the space between his knees as he sat himself upon a lifted table, maintaining his height advantage over her. After she bit his lip with force he should have been afraid of, but rather found disturbingly pleasurable, she drew back, a slight fog behind her eyes.

“Can you stay the afternoon Juggie? Our murder sheet is in desperate need of updating...or we could attend to other equally pressing matters,” upon the word pressing she applied pressure to a decidedly sensitive area that Jughead needed to ignore if he were to keep their dress and reputations intact.

“I must meet my father, by chance you will meet him this evening at dinner?” It was a small request that he hoped bared the conveyance on the serious matter he was about to engage with his father.

Betty groaned but grinned at him, “My mother has decreed my companionship at dinner, but meet me here after your meeting with your father, we can refresh our investigative sheet here, and then, perhaps, force our families to sit jointly at dinner,” her teasing faltered briefly but noticeably, “I would like for our parents to meet.”

Jughead felt as if his heart was beating in a rhythm independent of his mind and body. “Yes, and I must say I will enjoy conspiring with you to make such an event occur.” The seriousness of the topic on which they were balancing seemed undetermined and shaky, though deeply important. Not wanting to jeopardize any progress he pulled Betty into him again for another sound kiss before pulling back.

“Work that mind my dear, and I shall do the same until I return.”

“Do not tarry, Jug.”

Though he had just kissed her, the look in her eyes begged for one final embrace that he was powerless to reject. He brought Betty forward into a kiss and then spun their position to move them backwards until they hit a wall, which he used as leverage to deepen his kiss. 

He was smugly satisfied to the see the dazed look on her face as he began his retreat. 

“I shall return as soon as I am able.”

He left before she could respond, knowing that any reciprocation would delay him further. He kept his back to the door as he memorized every new sigh and curve to her body before he ventured onto his next task, equally as tied to Betty, but far different in its audience.

***

FP Jones II was not unimpressed with his assigned bedchambers, but nor was he complacent in its appropriateness for a King of the Allied Kingdoms. Though the castle was stressed with guests, he could not help but feel as if he had been slighted regarding his assignment, pondering on the lavishness of the Blossom quarters.

It was a pointless exercise in pride, but one that his father had embedded into his bones, and a habit he was too old and too tired to break. Mistakenly, he pressed the same habit onto his own son and heir, who could not carry on a conversation with a northern courtier without sarcastically self degrading himself to inspire guilt in his co-converser.

FP did feel a slight bit of guilt for releasing that much snark into the universe.

The boy himself finally showed his face in his chambers, but not until the bells had shifted to their afternoon tones and chimed three bell changes.

“I arrived here in the morning boy, any reason you have avoided me until now?”

Jughead did not look miffed or chided in any way by his father, but neither did FP really expect him to show such subservience. His son, and his daughter too if shame be told, had to take on the role of parent to him far too often during alcohol inspired adventures for him to completely retain authority over his children. In his years of soberness, he regained the sheen of paternal esteem, but knew better than to overuse its power, especially when speaking to his son in private.

“It is good to see you too, father,” Jughead responded with a smirk, which FP returned with an unamused scowl. Of course he was glad to see his son, but platitudes were not the Jones forte.

Seamlessly, Jughead took the seat across from his father’s desk and continued with FP’s original question, “I had assumed you would want an update as to the progress of the Serpents. Guard watches have been completely uneventful, though the King has noticed a marked improvement in castle favor since our appearance, proving the entire endeavour not completely pointless.”

FP nodded, he suspected as much. A crown prince was not likely the primary target of a would-be serial murderer. “Leads on the case itself? I am assuming Keller is buying the Cooper malarkey at its obviously duplicitous face?”

Jughead seemed to pale, but his tone retained its collectedness, “The Constable is eager to end the investigation, yes, and though it is clear to me that the Duke did not commit the crime, there is a greater conspiracy at play of which he is a pawn.” Jughead shifted back in his chair, his hand dropping to his side out of view. While he thought he was being sly, his father knew if he were spy his hand it would be fidgeting endlessly, betraying nerves that FP found curious. “That is the reason for my tardiness, we have been nearing closer to the solution. I am confident in our progress.”

Although deeply curious as the membership of the “we” and “our” in his son’s statements, FP chose to ignore them, instead sharing his pleasure at his sons investigative prowess, “Glad to hear it son, I hope it progresses at an expeditious rate, as I need you back at our castle as soon as the wedding festivities are completed. I have already arranged with Fred our payment and contract with Serpents, and we agree that it is the best time for departure. As it stands we are hosting trade partners with some Eastern Kingdoms that following week and I would like for you to be present.”

Now the paling of his son was far more noticeable. “The case may not be solved by then, and I have promised to remain in the castle for another month after the wedding has taken place.”

“Boy, that was not a promise you should have made without my consent.”

Jughead opened his mouth to protest that he was more King of the Serpent Kingdom than his father, an argument FP admitted had merit, but his son stopped himself with visual effort. Now FP’s attention was permanently peaked. His son was attempting to stay in favourable graces with him, and there could be only one reason for such behavior.

“The sudden urge to remain in the River Kingdom is tied to this investigative partner yes? Pray, what is her name?” FP could not hide his grin, which only widened at Jughead’s even paler complexion.

Feeling as if he had lost control of the conversation, Jughead narrowed his eyes and stood, giving him a position of power over his seated father. “I have found the future Serpent Queen, father, and I have every intention of asking for her hand once the month, and god willing, this investigation is completed.”

FP let out a gasp in surprise, but before he could respond, Jughead began pacing, reciting a nervous but clearly rehearsed monologue, “She is from a wealthy and prominent River Kingdom family, and is heir to her estate, gaining us political advantage which I know will please you. She is excellent with people and holds no prejudice over the Serpent kingdom, and I have no doubt our people will love her.” FP was in shock from the speech. He had not wanted to push his son into marriage, but he always thought Jughead would find an amiable woman with a political advantage to settle into a pleasant but unremarkable matrimony. The tone in which he described this woman however, was of decidedly more passionate tenor.

Jughead broke his pace and looked to his father expectantly, though FP regarded his son for several moments before responding. “I have no reservations on the suitability of the lady Jug, but I must ask if you are in love with her.”

Jughead reseated himself with a heavy thud of finality, he then closed his eyes as he lifted his head toward the ceiling, “To the point of desperation.”

FP chuckled and Jughead snapped his focus back to his father, opening his mouth to placate him on the dangers of love he mistakenly taught his son, but he raised his hand to stop him. “Jughead, you have my consent,” Jughead’s face lit so brilliantly he thought it could blind him, “on one condition.”

Jughead’s face fell slightly but he nodded, for FP to continue, “You will come home and meet with the Eastern Kingdom representatives after the wedding as promised, bringing the Serpent contingent with you. Only a week of your time is needed, and then you may return here to propose to your lady.” Though FP was not about to admit it to his son, he relied heavily on his son when it came to diplomatic matters. Without Jughead there, the temptation of the bottle might be too great.

Jughead considered for a moment but nodded, “That is reasonable, I accept.”

FP fought a smile, “Your return home will have benefit of you being able to retrieve a ring. Your grandmother’s I reckon will do nicely.”

The brilliance returned to Jughead’s face as he quietly thanked his father.

“So does your lady have a name?” 

“Lady Elizabeth Cooper.” Jughead filled with elation at the approval of his father did not hesitate a moment before voicing the name of the daughter of an accused murderer. Not that such things mattered to FP, in fact that moniker might earn her strange respect in their kingdom.

I smack of realization hit FP. Alice’s daughter. Of course. Because fate had an absurd sense of humour.

FP made sure his face revealed nothing as he voiced, “I look forward to gaining her acquaintance, at dinner perhaps?”

Jughead nodded, still full of giddy happiness, as he rushed both his goodbyes and his body out the door, no doubt in flight to visit (or more aptly, revisit) his lady.

FP sat back down in his chair and could no longer contain an amused chuckle. Elizabeth Cooper, daughter of Alice Cooper. 

If ever proof was needed, the strange cycle of feelings that brought Jughead to love Lady Cooper proved more than any resemblance or mannerisms could that Jughead really was his father’s son.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I am not sure I am entirely happy with it, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway lol.
> 
> The next few chapters I think will take some time, I will try and post updates and teases to tumblr (@kesleyjo) as I have them.
> 
> I appreciate all of you, writing this has become a wonderful anxiety reliever for me and I am endlessly grateful for your feedback and support, be it a comment, kudos, hit, or subscribe. Thank you :)


	12. Save this Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am behind on replying to comments, I know! I will catch up I promise. 
> 
> Read on and enjoy!

There was fire behind Betty’s eyes as her consciousness climbed out of her pleasant dreamscape. Idly, Betty felt the warmth of the sun kissing her eyelids and was struck by the novelty of the sensation. For the past few weeks, as the days shortened, Betty had been chasing the sun to wakefulness, not the opposite. The epiphany that Betty had finally sought and captured a decent night’s sleep was enough to startle her eyes to open in alertness.

The sun was not the only fire behind Betty’s eyes. She let out a startled cry, falling out of the bed and onto the floor with a heavy thump, bedsheets twisted tight and uncomfortable around her ankles.

“Stealing my soul whilst I sleep, Cher?”

Cheryl had remained perfectly tranquil, seated on her perch at the opposite side of the bed through Betty’s rude awakening, but the smirk that always charmed her face curled in greater amusement. She tilted her head slightly as she watched Betty rearrange her sheets and night shift, resituating herself on the bed. Sensing an interrogation, Betty forwent the cushion of the pillows to sit upright across from the intruding redhead.

“Simply debating if you were being lazy on a Saturday morning for once, or more likely, if you had fallen into a lethargic stupor and were in need of smelling salts. I am relieved it's the former, smelling salts are so vulgar.” Cheryl took a slow sip of the tea she had been holding, behaving as if this interaction was the most natural course of the morning. She was dressed in only a dressing gown, and it hung open around her.

“Cheryl, what are you doing in my chambers, dressed in casual fashion?”

Rolling her eyes, Cheryl took another sip of tea, drawing out her response, “Obviously, Betty, I have taken the other room in your chambers. Well  _ our  _ chambers at present.”

It surely was the obvious response and Betty chose to blame her early morning grogginess rather than admit to slow comprehension one her part. This did not provide encouraging evidence into her investigative excellence, a trait she was sure Cheryl was about to utilize. For the moment, however, Cheryl looked sympathetic and motioned to a piping cup of coffee she must have brought into her room and set upon the bedside table. Though sensing the superiority in the gesture, Betty was thankful as she gingerly scooped up the beverage and began cooling it with quick gusts of her breath. 

“Enough pleasantries. What tidings do you have for me Sweet Betty? Who took my JJ from me?” Cheryl’s tone was even, not betraying the waves of emotion beneath the placid surface, but Betty had known Cheryl long enough to notice the pinch in the corner of her mouth and her white knuckles gripping her teacup. 

Betty took a long sip of her coffee, it was still too hot as it burned down her throat, but if she were to have this conversation with Cheryl now, she would need her entire wits about her. “While we are still unsure as to who is responsible for the order to strike Jason down, we believe we have found the impetus of the motive, if not the motive itself.”

One of Cheryl’s eyebrows had been raised so high before she smoothed her face that Betty chastised herself for the liberal use of the word, “we.” Her companion suspiciously chose not to comment, meaning that particular piece of informatic ammunition would return to haunt Betty later, of that she was certain.

Cheryl’s brows wrinkled in thought, “You are speaking then of the nature of business between my father and the St. Clairs? Have you uncovered their secret?”

Betty scooted forward on the bed, and even though eavesdropping on the conversation was impossible she lowered her voice anyway, “I think they are harvesting the endless poppy fields in the Forest Kingdom to produce opium. I believe your father is providing the raw good and the St. Clairs are extracting and selling the drug from the flower. If the shipments were to be subject to search, it would be assumed it is being shipped to make medical pain alliviants, not recreational drugs. Mutually beneficial for all parties involved.”

In the midst of her explanation, Cheryl got lost somewhere in the middle distance, not returning to the present until her lips started to move, eventually producing enough breath to voice words, “Flowers can not bloom in the winter.”

Not following the soft words, Betty pressed, “No, but I am sure they have a prearranged agreement for goods and payments through the off season months…”

Cheryl shook her head wildly, grasping at Betty’s hand sharply. Luckily it was the hand not holding the hot cup of coffee, but some of the liquid splashed on her opposite hand regardless. She winced and set the saucer down, giving Cheryl her full attention.

“Father has been shutting down schools, typically those in rural areas, throughout the entirety of our kingdom, but one such instance struck me as odd. Several months ago he shut down one of our more prominent schools for extended education. Many of those studying and teaching there remained, and were offered ‘alternative vocations’ as my father called them. The schools specialty was science, and specifically landwork improvement possibilities.”

The coffee had finally greased the connections of Betty’s tired mind, “You believe they are growing more crop in controlled environments, so called greenhouses. I have seen them. There are several such houses being used on the Cooper estate, and many schools in the Serpent Kingdom have written manuals on the practice. They could be using such knowledge as a guide. But surely it cannot be enough to replace the goods produced by all the fields in Forest Kingdom.”

“Of course not, but as you mentioned they most likely have an arrangement for the winter months, this increases the reliability and profitability of such an alliance.”

Betty shook her head, “That’s a rather mature and complicated enterprise.”

Cheryl looked lit with anger, an effect only increased by her flowing hair behind her. “My brother was killed over profit then? For not wanting to partake in the scheme? Or did they simply rid themselves of him so that I can be sold in marriage?”

Looking at her friend trembling with emotion fighting for display, she took Cheryl’s hand and said firmly, “We do not know the cause, only the connection. We do have a plan of action, there is someone near who may be privy to the motivations of this plot. I plan to persuade Archibald to grant me a royal exception to visit Polly, circumventing my mother’s wishes,” before Betty could stop herself she added, “Perhaps you shall come with me?”

Surprise lit her friend’s face, but the emotion was neutral, neither leaning toward the positive or negative. While Betty and Cheryl had spent years building and forming first an alliance, and then eventually a true friendship, Cheryl and Polly developed an equally negative attachment. Whether it was borne out of a competition to be the supreme confidante of Betty, or genuine dislike of the others’ personalities, Betty was unsure, but the certainty of the animosity was resolute. In the last year their strained looks and passive aggressive barbs had escalated to direct verbal attacks whenever they shared a room. The revelation that Cheryl’s brother was in love with her rival – enough to run away from her and the family forever – could not have improved that opinion.

“I would...I would like that Betty. Thank you.” Cheryl’s expression was chastened and quiet, an attitude so rare on Cheryl’s features that Betty almost did not recognize it. 

Having that decided, and having shared the information she required, Betty was determined to lighten the mood that surrounded them, particularly on a day expectant with festivity. “How late did I sleep, Cher? Please tell me late enough that the morning meal has made its way into the sitting room.”

Betty drew her favorite dressing gown around her body, noticing the bitter chill in the morning air as Cheryl chiped, “The sun has barely greeted the day Sweet Betty, so your reputation as an early riser remains untarnished. We are about halfway through the seven hour, and the maids were instructed to bring the meal after they provided our beverages,” Cheryl gestured her own teacup towards the coffee that Betty lifted into her own hands as they padded their way toward the sitting room. 

There was a modest breakfast awaiting them, understandable given that preparations for the engagement feast that evening must be well underway. Betty helped herself to small serving of ham and some fruit, wanting to be able to attract the eyes of her prince in the fitted gown she planned on sewing herself into that day.

Cheryl, almost painfully thin, helped herself to a similarly small breakfast until Betty softly interjected that she should really finish the rest so that it would not go to waste. Cheryl, always wise to Betty’s motives smiled, but only added a small amount of cheese to her meal. After taking a nibble of blackberry she asked, “I have commissioned to have three extra handmaidens assist us in our preparations today. The feast formalities begin at four bells, thus we should start preparation as soon as we finish.”

Betty scoffed, “Really Cher? Eight bell changes are required for us to become suitable for public viewing?”

“Its an engagement ball, and looking at your poorly treated tresses that are in deep need of care, eight hours may not be enough time for recovery. Have you not been using the tonics I sent you?”

Betty used them for one week, but the complicated routine was not worth the small benefits it provided to her hair, and unlike Cheryl, her long hair was constricted into a braid most of the time, not falling around her in impossible waves, as it did for her friend.

Instead of responding, Betty tossed three blackberries into her mouth and looked apologetically at Cheryl’s narrowed gaze. With a snap of her fingers, three of her Blossom handmaidens swarmed about them and ushered Betty into the washroom where a tub brimming with just scalding enough water for Betty to be deeply uncomfortable but not enough to scar her skin, was waiting for her. She was unceremoniously stripped and tossed into the tub with a stifled shriek. Cheryl’s maids would not hear of the preposterous suggestion that Betty bathe her own person as they scrubbed at Betty’s skin and hair, with Betty trying to cover her more sensitive bits with little success. By the time they had finished with her, and Betty was again in her own dressing gown, her skin was burning red; from the heat of the bath or the embarrassment of the ordeal was a mystery.

Cheryl was already seated in their sitting rooms, her own wet hair being meticulously brushed out by one of the Blossom maids as Betty reentered. Betty let out a futile puff of indignation as she was plopped into her own makeshift vanity, and another maid began to brush out her blonde locks. Cheryl had two long mirrors moved into their sitting room (from what corner of the castle Betty could only guess), with their respective vanity chairs placed before them. Out of the corner of Betty’s left eye she could see a brilliant burst of red, Cheryl’s performance of a gown, Betty was certain.

“Since your preparation for the day is in clear need of my supervision, I have moved us out of our respective chambers and into our sitting room. You of course will share my maids but, really, Betty, a future duchess of your caliber ought to employ at least two of her own personal handmaidens.” Cheryl was speaking to Betty’s reflection in her mirror not wanting to disturb the no doubt arduous process of taming her mane. Cheryl was saved a rebuttal from her friend by Betty’s acquired understanding that this was Cheryl’s way of wanting to pass the the day together. “Dear Betty, you did not have a dress set out for today, really if proper pressing is required, I need the garment in this room post haste.”

Betty opened her mouth to respond but her dress, and the formidable brunette wielding it, burst through her chamber doors. Though she did not expect the dramatics of this situation, Betty supposed she should not be surprised by the timeliness of her new friend. Veronica and Cheryl seemed to be conducting their own stage play and as such, wielded the their cues and entrances on their own will. She had known that Veronica’s arrival was imminent, and that an introduction was required, but truly, Betty had no idea how to execute such an introduction.

“Oh, B, you have started without me, I will try not to take it too personally. Clearly the Princess takes precedent.”

Making it clear where Betty stood on the matter she interjected, “Veronica asked to prepare for the engagement feast together, and given the ambush this morning, I think we shall enjoy a trio of company. Yes?” Betty was already nodding at a maid and gesturing at her and Cheryl’s mirror and chair set up as a model for Veronica. Three maids immediately sped away to fulfill such a request.

Veronica’s somewhat troubled facade faded away into gratitude and excitement as she handed off both her and Betty’s dresses to a maid who immediately hung them to air before the feast. Veronica's dress was a gorgeous gold and purple brocade that no doubt would make her look positively regal next to the royal blue coat she was sure Archie was planning to sport. Her dress however was even more enticing than when she first spied it in Veronica’s closet. It was gray, navy, and white which on its description suggested subdued colors, but the way that they were arranged on the dress, and the cut in which they were placed, were absolutely devilish. She burned with anticipation upon viewing what Jughead’s reaction would be to such a garment. But such fantasies must be entertained at another time, as Cheryl and Veronica had begun their dance for dominance.

“Princess Cheryl, we have yet to be introduced, I am Veronica Lodge, future queen of this fine castle.” Veronica did not curtsey as was custom when meeting someone above your rank. Once she was married to a prince, she would not be expected to defer, but now, avoiding such a simple act of decorum was a declaration, one that Cheryl recognized immediately.

“Ah yes, the titleless powermonger, from the Western Free states. Attempting to buy my sweet friend here along with the crown of the River Kingdom?”

Betty gasped and stood to chide one friend in defense of the other, but Veronica’s cool glance stopped her.

“My father is the powermonger in my family, and you should have more faith in your friend to know that Betty cannot be bought even if I should wish it.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes but did not respond, which was enough of a victory for Veronica, who moved to her newly acquired vanity chair and mirror beside the blonde. She began chatting with Betty as if a battle skirmish had not just been waged in this very room, and that her opponent was not staring at her with pure malice. Betty felt anxiety lace through her stomach, beginning to regret bringing all the women here for an afternoon.

To Betty’s pleasant surprise, the barbs tossed early that morning also represented a truce of respect of sorts. The conversation was light and fairly shallow in topic, which annoyed Betty as she wished to discuss topics of more depth with her friends. But if this was the price to pay for civility, she would acquiesce without protest. The mood improved greatly when Toni stopped by for a visit, and Veronica’s easy rapport with the Serpent evoked a more softend Cheryl. Three bell changes passed with little to no incident, and since the three women’s hair was appropriately coiffed, the maids dispersed to gather a luncheon. No longer in need of the vanities, the four women arranged themselves upon the more comfortable seats at the sofas. 

Betty threw a knowing smirk in Cheryl’s direction, “Our hair is perfectly acceptable with just five hours to spare,” the sarcasm in Betty’s voice increasing as Cheryl’s eyes narrowed on her.

“The maids will return two hours hence to retouch hair and to dress us in our gowns, and you should be grateful that we have time to converse and be friendly. Besides, you had planned to pass the entire day with Veronica, pray tell what would you have done to pass the time,” Betty smiled, placating her. She had planned to spend the day in just such a fashion, but was always entertained by Cheryl’s need to mask spending time with friends with some other purpose.

Veronica, however, struck by a devilish impulse, heightened the stakes of the conversation by voicing, “My true aim of the day was to uncover just how far Betty has fallen for the Serpent Prince.” Veronica took a sip from her goblet as she surveyed the havoc created by her statement.

Betty flushed a deep red and could not seem to gain enough power to give voice to a rebuttal. Toni giggled softly, but halfheartedly attempted to stifle her amusement behind her hand. Cheryl, however, gave a hum of approval and set her teacup down with a flourish.

“I did not want to be the gremlin who introduced that cretin into the conversation, but now that  _ Miss  _ Lodge has taken the honor, let us discuss, Sweet Betty, what you could possibly see in that mannerless creature.”

Toni’s expression turned stern as she warned, “Watch your tone, Cheryl, you are speaking of my prince.”

Cheryl, it seemed, had no intention of heeding that warning.

“Jughead Jones, Betty?! Really my dear, just because the ginger prince is marrying a pauper, does not predicate you having to lower your standards to that barbarian!”

“Cheryl, a gentle reminder that I am seated not ten meters away from you,” Veronica spoke to Cheryl’s reflection in the mirrors that still stood around the seating area, for fear that a direct glance would turn her to stone. “Also I am not a pauper, that would imply that I am without wealth,” Veronica chided.

Cheryl signified Veronica’s rebuttal with a mere wave of her hand and nothing more as she continued, “You have been careless with this pursuit Sweet Betty. You are the buzz of my kingdom as well as your own. Really, clandestine kisses and escapes into your bedroom, no wonder the rumour mill is deeply sated.”

Veronica let out a sound that was halfway between a guffaw and a gasp, “He absconded to your  _ room?!” _

Betty collapsed into a sigh, but did not have enough energy to fib, “Indeed he did.” Betty’s face pinched in confusion as she gestured toward Cheryl,  “How on earth did you know?”

Toni timidly raised her hand, “Jughead had Sweet Pea stand watch that evening, and that boy cannot keep a secret.” Betty narrowed her glare pointedly at Toni, “And nigh can I apparently,” Toni conceded, shyly hiding her face behind her plate of food. 

Veronica flitted her hands in front of her as a way to gain the attention of those around her. “Let us return to the very interesting story of Jughead stealing into your room, Lady Cooper. I thought you were being careful not to fall too quick or too deeply for Jughead?”

Betty let the pronounced burn on her face speak for her as Cheryl tutted, “The lack of decorum is unbecoming, Betty, but I find myself torn over whether I prefer an ill-advised heated flirtation, or an actual courtship.” Then because she felt she needed to further voice her displeasure, “Sweet Betty, I must warn you, besides being a sarcastic imbecile, the things I have heard of his flirtations…”

Toni said her lady’s name low as warning as Betty stood, “Enough! I have heard of his flirtations, and he and I have discussed them frankly. They have no real substance,” – even Betty could hear the doubt in her voice but she persevered – “And please do not sully his reputation by giving them any real creedence.” Betty paused her throat suddenly too dry, “Regarding the nature of our relationship...I...we…” Betty felt the tears pooling in her eyes. She used to love talking to her girlfriends (and Kevin) about flirtations and clandestine glances, but this felt too personal and too real to spoil with gossip. 

Veronica sat unmoving as she watched Betty, cautious that any comment or reaction could aggravate her further, whereas Cheryl stared with impatient anticipation. Toni, however rose slowly and glided over to Betty placing both hands on her shoulders. 

“Lady Coop, you are plenty capable of following your own heart and mind, but if I may, let me put you at ease. I have seen Jughead Jones woo and flirt, and none of those games had any intention behind them. Betty, he has nothing  _ but  _ intentions with you.” Betty met Toni’s reassurances with a small smile, as Toni wiped away her tears.

“That in fact is my sincerest wish,” Toni admitted failing miserably to hide her smile, “My prince and my friend joined in partnership.” Betty smiled warmly at her and quietly replied, “I fear that may be a wish of mine as well.”

Veronica let out a squeal and grabbed Betty’s hand to sit down next to her. Toni, whose smile had doubled, moved back to sit next to a resigned looking Cheryl, though she too was now sporting an amused smirk. Though Betty found these reactions heartening, they stoked the guilt that had been building in fervor ever since her and Jughead’s first kiss several days ago.

Noticing the newly fraught expression, Veronica’s grin faltered and she asked, “What is wrong, B?”

“I feel unfaithful.”

Her companions fell silent, all understanding the implication of Betty’s confession. Both encouraged and discomforted by the silence she continued, “If all had proceeding according to the original plan, I would be a future countess, instead of a future duchess. I would most likely be with child.” The very thought of it illuminated a very clear and bittersweet picture in her mind. “Chuck would have been so doting, so careful. He was a natural healer and lover of medicine, but he was always so overly cautious with me. It is callous of me, to fall in love with another. To harbour thoughts of a union that was always meant to be with Chuck. What if one day he returns?”

Veronica and Toni both looked at her with sympathy, but did not have any words to offer to her torment. 

An affliction that did not extend to Cheryl.

Cheryl took a long sip that drained her cup of it’s remaining tea and she stood. “That is quite enough Elizabeth Cooper. You fell out of love with Chuck, as you should have when he left. He could have stayed and decried the ridiculous charges laid against him by Archibald, but he did not. Now in the wake of your interrupted marriage you have romanticized the relationship, holding it to an impossible standard that I will not abide.”

Cheryl stood and slowly waltzed her way over to Betty, with Toni and Veronica too frozen in shock to stop either her advances or her speech.

“If you and Chuck had been married, I cannot deny that you would be well on your way to a content and adequate marriage. But you were always going to harbour resentment towards Chuck, a feeling you have ceased to recognize since his departure.” Betty’s mouth dropped open, and she willed some form of protest to escape her body, but she was unable to produce such a feat. It was a foolish pursuit regardless, as Cheryl could not be stopped.

“While the young Clayton had grown, much through your influence, into a reasonably acceptable young man, he had an infamous past.” She turned then to Veronica, who by virtue of being a newcomer to the kingdom, would have the purest reaction to the next part of her speech, “He was a man of many women, who had seduced the maidenhood out of many a servant girl, and while he had changed those habits, you cannot deceive me, Betty, into believing that such behaviour did not haunt your relationship.” Seeing a surprised but tempered expression of surprise from Veronica, Cheryl had turned her attention onto Betty setting herself onto the lounge, displacing Veronica who returned to her seat on the opposite lounge.

Betty, unable to deny the accusation gaped at Cheryl and could only rebut, “I loved him Cher, and every marriage has points of contention. You cannot believe so naive as to hope otherwise.”

“Obviously Betty, but can you honestly tell me that you have not glorified this phantom of a relationship to the extent that it is harming your current pursuits?”

Cheryl turned her body towards Betty and grasped her hands, ignoring the rest of the company in the room to give Betty her undivided attention. “As much as I abhor your choice of paramour,” she punctuated the statement with a sigh as Betty rolled her eyes, the movement allowing a lone tear to escape down her cheek which she quickly wiped away as Cheryl continued, “I have never seen you so wound into a knot, yet so full of happiness. And although your choice of beau is ridiculous, all I wish is for your happiness. Besides if you become queen of the Serpent Kingdom, I shall not have to deal with the two hapless future kings alone.”

“That was several insults removed from being sweet, Cher,” Toni let out a laugh as Veronica scoffed in indignation.

“I take your lack in confidence in me as a challenge Lady Blossom.”

Cheryl narrowed her eyes briefly at Veronica, but tossed her hair as a flippant dismissal, turning back to Betty who wore a chastising expression, which Cheryl also chose to ignore. Veronica took a deep breath to begin retaliation, but Toni defused the situation by returning the conversation to the topic at paramount interest.

“Betty, about Jug, what do you desire for your relationship?”

Betty, unprepared for such a direct attack, stammered a stream of sounds that did not quite resemble any recognizable language, so Toni reframed her question for clearer focus, “If he were to ask you to become his queen, how would you respond?”

Veronica and Cheryl were staring intently at Betty, and she felt the burn of their stares on her face. She closed her eyes to their presence, trying to steady her mind and ease the rapid beating of her heart. 

The quandary was not that she did not know the answer to the question. She had started asking the question every day to herself since he snuck into her chambers through the window. The answer was the same that day as it was now, the same as it would be days and years from now. 

That was without dilemma.

Her current predicament was whether she wanted her companions to be privy to the answer. As she debated it in her mind, her friends stayed silent, waiting patiently for her to respond. Evasion of the question would be to forsake Jughead and his importance to her existence.

She could not deny him.

While she was not ready for the world’s opinion on her personal relationship, some perspective from these people she trusted was a placating thought. Enough for Betty’s nerves to firm as she took a deep breath. Betty opened her eyes to the waiting stares of her friends and she told them the truth.

“Yes.”

Veronica gasped and launched herself to her friend landing in between Betty and and Cheryl. The red head rolled her eyes, both at the action of the future River Queen and to Betty’s response, but she could not hide her pleased smirk as she made her way back to Toni, sitting closer than before to her lady love.

Toni was grinning and fostering a small laugh as she replied, “If Jughead does not ask you to be his wife he is a fool. But I feel that is a scenario we will not have to face.”

Betty did not know it when she spoke the truth, but it was Cheryl’s opinion that she wished to hear, having anticipated these positive reactions from both Toni and Veronica. It was Cheryl who had nursed her through her last love and loss, and it was Cheryl who would not shy away from harsh truth.

“While the boy is filled with dreadful manners and has all the wit of a potato–” she paused looking meaningfully at Betty, “He looks at you as if you were a holiday feast. And that boy has a substantial appetite.” The ladies all giggled as Betty flushed, scandalized by the assumption, but secretly pleased with the possibility. 

Needing time to wash the flush from her face, she quickly transitioned topics to how she would go about persuading Archie to allow her access to the sisters to talk to Polly. The women still exchanged knowing glances at the abrupt change in topic, but conversely they all recognized the importance of the task Betty had introduced, and dove into their plotting with sincerity. 

By the time the maids had returned at two bells, a plan had been formulated, Cheryl and Veronica had built an uneasy alliance for the sake of their kingdoms and for Betty, and Toni and Cheryl were whispering sweet nothings before Toni prepared to head for patrol. She had willfully volunteered to take the watch during the engagement feast, wanting the excuse to not view Cheryl and Nick together in a formal setting, regardless of how artificial and temporary their engagement may be.

Betty, Cheryl and Veronica each returned to their self-assigned vanity chairs as the maids began their final preparations of their hair and faces. 

Toni stopped and stared at the three women in the doorway for several seconds until Betty, with a curious chuckle asked what had caught her attention.

“To think, I am viewing the three future queens of the Allied Kingdoms,” Toni pondered, a look of appreciation on her face, “Gives hope to the future.”

Toni did not wait for a response as she left the room, and Betty watched her leave, struck with the possibility of the statement. While Cheryl and Veronica looked appreciative of the compliment, it did not strike them as a revolutionary statement. But unlike her companions, Betty had not thought of, or desired a thrown or a crown.

Smiling to herself Betty pondered that if the crown were silver, and her throne were seated next to her handsome king, perhaps this was an idea to which she could become accustomed.

***

Veronica was to be violently ill. Of that she was certain.

Not from the delicious feast they had just consumed, no, but over her father’s upcoming speech. As was custom, the fathers of the betrothed couples spoke, feasibly words of wisdom and celebration at the engagement feast. Vainly, Veronica had hoped her father would defer. It was a foolish notion, as her father wanted nothing more than respect, and an audience to demand that respect from.

Staring at the dessert that was one of her favorites, a honeyed apple tart, she lamented that she could not muster more than one bite of the delicious treasure. She was seated in a position of honor between the princes, though her betrothed was far more attentive of her distress than the Serpent, who seemed keen to avoid a repeat of their conversation at the Feast of Promise.

Besides, his attention was fixed almost unwaveringly on the lady seated across the hall from the head table. Veronica could not exactly blame the prince for his attentions. Veronica had to check her envy as they departed for the feast, though she herself looked regal and breathtaking. Princess Cheryl, with her red aesthetic was a easy target for attention, but it was Betty who threatened to steal the focus from the guest of honor.

The dress she borrowed from Veronica was deceptively simple, with its navy, grey and white color design, but the white piping followed the waist of the tightly fitting dress, drawing attention to the beautiful body that it covered. Her hair was without its plait, and it fell behind her in a golden waterfall, casting a glow on her face, only slightly enhanced by various powders and rouges. Though the River Kingdom was devoid of a wealth of art, they did have a walking painting commingling in their circles. When the three ladies had made their grand entrance into the ballroom, Jughead had almost begun drooling at the sight of her, a reaction smugly received by the object of his attention. It was a spectacle that she was glad to see her future husband did not share. Even though he gave an appreciate glance toward Betty, his eyes and attention were solely for Veronica.

As they were now.

“Veronica, love, are you feeling ill?” The use of that particular endearment, though innocently meant, caused her illness to morph briefly into nervousness before returning with added strength into nausea.

“I am fine, Archie, simply an over indulgence of the fine food.” She offered him a watery smile, and bless him, that was an explanation enough for his simple mind.

Jughead from her other side did not tear his eyes away from Betty but his question was certainly directed toward her, “I will happily finish that tart if you are not inclined to do so.” Although he could not see, she rolled her eyes at Jughead, but pushed the tart his direction, glad to be free of the temptation. He ate the entire thing in one bite, and although she could hear a snide remark from Cheryl on the opposite side of Jughead, he did not let it bother him visually.

Several minutes later, the servers rushed into the banquet hall to clear the desert, and Veronica felt her stomach tighten as she took a shuddering breath. Archie grabbed her hand but she could not chance a glance to his face as she saw, several seats down, her father rise, his presence causing a silence to fall across the hall.

He was dressed even more ostentatiously than he had during the morning promenade the day prior. He had replaced the furs with gold chains, each link glistening off the candlelight with a wink. They had to have been heavy, but Hiram looked light as air as he stood appraising the nobles around him.

“Good evening, citizens of the Allied Kingdoms, powers of the world, it is satisfying to finally be able to walk these halls as an honored guest.” There were several nervous chuckles that sought to break the tension, but Hiram would not be deterred in his posturing. “Growing up a poor boy in the free states, the Allied Kingdoms were the paragon of power and stability. Nothing drove my ambition more than to one day be a part of that dynasty. The Western States have not been unkind,” he gestured half-heartedly towards Veronica’s mother, whose face remained icily pleasant during her husband’s show, “for they have brought me wealth, and pride beyond my greatest imaginings.” He raised his goblet towards Veronica, while the hall smiled and cheered with agreement, though Veronica knew better than to believe the statement to be sincere.

“I have conquered the west, and taken from it all the wealth that is to be offered, and still I have never felt more fulfilled. To finally be accepted into these halls and for my daughter to be your queen, well…” Hiram pretended to pat a stray tear from his eye as a knowing smirk fought for dominance in his expression, “It brings such a wealth of possibilities.” And before anyone in the hall could dissect his speech further he raised his goblet in a toast for the others to join in.

Veronica could not stomach even a sip of her wine, and Archie, again surprising her with his attentiveness, grabbed her hand and leaned in close to her ear, eliciting a shiver of a much more pleasant variety to shoot up her spine, “Remember, Ronnie, he does not rule this kingdom, we shall.” She sharply looked to his face to be met with a knowing look hiding behind his eyes. She often took for granted that when he wished to be, Archie could be oddly wise. Well hidden and all that.

There were some mutterings that followed Hiram’s speech, no doubt pondering its intent, when King Frederick Andrews stood, his silent and effortless gravitas claiming the attention of the room with ease and grace.

“Thank you Hiram, for those words of triumph.” He did not mean it as a joke, but Veronica had to stifle her laughter as she gave Archie’s hand a quick pulse. “As a father, all one hopes for is the happiness of one’s child, and that you have prepared them well for the life that they are destined to lead. I have raised a good man, a good future king in Archibald. He is kind, he is gracious, and he is full of love for this kingdom.” Fred stopped and stared at the table a moment, tracing a grain on its surface, before continuing, “Although she is not with us in body, Archie carries the spirit and grace of his mother, another gift I am happy she bestowed on her son before she passed.” The crowd was silent with reverence as Veronica gave Archie’s hand another loving grip, one that was surprisingly returned, followed by Archie’s intertwining of their fingers.

“The only thing missing from my son’s life is a steady influence and partner by his side. Although I have only known her north of a weeks time, I feel deeply thankful that Veronica has been blessed to my son. As an intelligent and direct woman, she will make a fine partner and an incredible leader to this kingdom.” Fred raised his glass high, and waited as the rest of the crowd echoed the motion. “To the happiness of your future king and queen!”

Cheers and clinking of glasses rose into a cacophony of sound before crashing back down into the scraping of chairs as people rose to prepare for the dancing. Veronica could her none of it, focused as she was on hiding the tears that threatened to fall. Of the two men who had spoken, only one of them spoke with love that a daughter craved, and the sadness of that realization had Veronica gripping Archibald even tighter.

Misunderstanding her unease, Archie helped Veronica rise and move to the head of the dance floor, where they would be expected to lead the first dance. “I vow, my dear, that I am far more graceful on my feet than I first appear.”

His smile was devastating in its handsomeness. Archibald exuded loyalty and affability, traits that were scarcely found amongst the ambitious rivals of the Western Kingdoms. Veronica knew she was lucky to be arranged to such a man, and that she was falling for him, but sharing her vulnerabilities with him still granted her unease.

“When we have children, Archie,” he smiled wide at the the thought, “We will raise them to value love as well the good of the kingdom, yes?”

She expected a look of confusion or concern to cross his face, not the knowing nod he gave her, again betraying the wisdom that he kept well hidden. 

“One cannot rule a kingdom fairly and justly without understanding love.” It was line full of childish sentiment, but Veronica did not care, as it perfectly eased her agitation. She leaned up to give him a chaste kiss before they carried out the first dance together; a mid-tempo formal set, that was watched with piercing eyes for the entirety of its duration. Veronica could not create a moment to care for the gossip and critiques of the nobles surrounding the floor. Her eyes and attention were meant solely for the brown-eyed boy before her.

As the dance ended, and other couples paired off to begin the next set, Veronica stopped Archie even though she knew he intended to ask her to dance the next reel together. Given the immense amount of kindness that Archie had shown her over the past few hours, she felt an acute burn of shame in her upcoming deception. Although the trick was not nefarious, it was a trick nonetheless.

“Archie, while I will be happy to dance the entirety of the rest of the night with you, your next dance has already been spoken for,” Veronica nodded behind her to the approaching blonde. Archie spun around but Veronica could feel the alarm tighten his muscles as he spun back to Veronica, wrought with confusion.

Instead of providing a response, she gently pushed Archie into the arms of her awaiting friend, just as the music for the next set began its first several notes. As Betty whisked Archie away, Veronica sent a silent prayer that the machinations the women had hatched earlier would meet a desirable conclusion.

***

Stifling down memories of Archibald’s privileged request two weeks prior, Betty forced a sweet smile and what she hoped was an obliging expression.

“I apologize for the ambush, Archibald, I did not know if you would be amenable for a dance with me.” Betty’s nerves were more wracked than she wished, but the thought of seeing Polly’s face, and finally uncovering answers to Jason’s murder were doing wonders to dull those sensations.

Archibald gripped Betty a little tighter, to her great discomfort, as they had reached a prolonged joined portion of the dance. The ladies had chosen this reel in particular to target for this conversation, as it was the dance most suited to uninterrupted dialogue, and the physical touch was minimal. The grip, as it was, caused bile to rise in Betty’s throat, but she let her mission stay her course.

“If anyone has cause to offer an apology it is I, Lady Elizabeth. My...offer...to you was callous and ill thought through and I apologize. I should have considered what you and my future wife desired before acting on feelings that were solely of my own design. I pray you can forgive me?”

The hope in his eyes was oppressive, but Betty had to relent that as far as apologies went, his was well executed. If he had offered the apology under normal circumstances, she would have thanked him, and requested more time, and perhaps a kingdom’s worth of space before considering such forgiveness. Alas, such luxuries could not be afforded given her current predicament, and Betty forced her sickly sweet smile to widen.

“I accept your apology Archie,” the use of his nickname brought a light to his eyes, “And I may I request the granting of a favor to secure this renewed vow of friendship?” Betty moved a little closer in the hold, far closer than the dance intended or required, but Betty was desperate for his answer to be in the affirmative.

It seemed to have been successful.

Archie was almost breathless as he responded, “Anything, Betty. You name it, and it shall be yours.”

“I need special royal permission to grant Cheryl and myself visitor’s access to the convent where Polly is staying.”

Confusion filled Archie’s gaze, “Surely your mother will permit you–” 

Betty could not let him finish his thought, and desperate to continue her persuasion, she broke their handhold, moving her hand to gently rest on Archie’s shoulder, “My mother has misguided thoughts as to my protection, and wishes to keep me ensconced in the castle. But I have not seen Polly in almost a month, and my heart aches to see her. Please, Arch.”

She could feel him melting underneath her fingertips, “Of course. Of course, Betty. I will have a decree waiting for you in your chambers in the morning marked with my seal, it shall grant you access whenever you should wish it.”

The dance and her ploy had reached its end, and Betty could not help but feel guilty for the passing of events. She wished one day to forgive Archie, and perhaps rebuild their friendship, but she admitted to herself that said time would have been prolonged had she not needed a specific favor from her former friend. The dishonesty of their interaction caused a rot in her stomach.

The music ceased, and on impulse, she kissed Archie’s cheek, whether as either an apology or thank you, even she was uncertain. The swarming crowd of dancers in search of a new partner obscured them from most of the hall, and the fact that they were not subject to endless stares meant they went unobserved, but Betty immediately chastised herself for the hope it caused to root on Archie’s face.

“Anything, Betty.”

She untangled herself from the lingering dance hold she and Archie had found themselves in, staring dumbfoundedly at the boy as Veronica approached. Her dark-haired friend sent Betty a questioning glance and Betty could only muster a nod in response. Veronica shot her a brilliant smile, and ushered Archie away for the next set. Thankfully, all of Archie’s attentions had returned entirely to his fiance and he did not spare Betty another glance.

A feat Betty would not have deemed possible even a week ago.

Flush with embarrassment and guilt, Betty found herself in need of fresh air as she moved expediently out into the courtyard adjacent to the ballroom, the call of the cool breeze beckoning her into its refreshing embrace. The call was so profound, she did not notice a silver crown adorned head, following her through the masses.

***

Jughead’s curiosity was decidedly peaked.

During the opening waltz, Betty had found him and confided that she intended to dance the next set with Archie, much to his surprise and chagrin, though she promised to explain her motives later. This was unexpected and curious, but since he had trouble forming coherent thoughts with her in that dress, he was unable to respond before she flitted away to perform said task.

Now, as he watched Betty and Archie dance, his suspicions surrounding her purpose swirled, mixed in with a healthy dose of jealousy as he saw Archie grip Betty far too tightly for his liking. They conversed through the entirety of the dance, both gazes hopeful. He assumed that Archie was finally taking the opportunity to deliver a long needed apology, as he should, but it was his partner’s expression that troubled him. Betty’s eagerness needled his nerves until he remembered their conversation the day before. 

The convent.

She needed permission, and she was ambushing him in a public place for said favor. It was an intelligent ploy, and Jughead let the relief of that perfectly good explanation numb his concern. He waited impatiently for the dance to end, his fingers twitching with the impossible need to touch her.

Whatever peace he garnered was obliterated when he saw Betty place a chaste kiss on Archie’s cheek and flee, whilst Veronica swept Archie away for their next dance eagerly lost in the embrace of the other. 

His feet started moving towards Betty and her swift exit before he had consciously decided to follow her. He attempted to check his anger before he reached her, but was finding it difficult to sweep away the irritation that plagued his mood. He had no claim over her, true, but had he not made his intentions decidedly clear? 

Betty had escaped to the stoned courtyard, and had positioned herself strategically in the far corner of the pavement, shrouded in the shadows and leaning against the wall, her eyes closed and her breathing uneven.

“You appear troubled my lady.”

Betty’s eyes snapped to his and he barely had time to take a breath before she ran into his arms. Her grip was tight and her hands were widely splayed, as if she wanted to touch as much of him as possible. Sensing their exposure to the dance hall, he moved them in a clumsy dance mid embrace, back to the safety of the shadows. Betty was not inclined to be free of Jughead’s embrace, so he took the opportunity to caress her back both in comfort for her and for himself. It was easy to chase away feeling of envy and doubt when she was so willfully situated in his arms.

An entire dance had passed before the tension had completely dispelled from Betty’s tight shoulders. She moved back, still not entirely relinquishing her hold, but just enough so that she could peer up into his face. Her nerves were gone now, replaced with triumph and eagerness, the change in mood so sudden it would have bothered Jughead more had she not unleashed good news upon him.

“Archie has granted permission for Cheryl and I to visit Polly at the convent. We cannot visit during sabbath, but come Monday morning we may finally have some answers.” She placed her hands on his face, and stared at him so intently he was afraid of confessing his soul to her. Instead, he redirected with sarcasm.

“So devils are permitted to enter the convent but I am not?” 

“Be gracious, Cheryl nearly said some wonderful things about you earlier this day,” Betty chided, dropping her hands to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to her.

Jughead trailed his fingers down her arm, loving he reaction he could gain by such a simple movement. “Nearly? My interest is peaked, pray tell?”

“That is a secret amongst the ladies,” Betty whispered her response along his ear, brushing her lips in the sensitive spot just behind, causing his thoughts to wander to places as dark as the shadows in which they stood. Unable to resist, he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her fully, only drawing back once her tongue sought his. 

She pouted as he retreated, sighing, “It is unkind to begin what one does not intend to finish.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, “Turnabout is fair play.”

She smirked at his game, but drew serious as Jughead’s expression also took a turn for the somber.

“Betty, I am grateful that we have a moment alone, for I also have news I wish to impart, I should have spoken of it after I met with my father or even at dinner the night previous, but I did not wish to alarm you–”

Betty’s eyes widened as she pushed him back slightly so she could stand, no longer leaning against the wall. “It is fair to say my alarm is now raised, what troubles you Jug?”

It was not a trouble, not entirely, but it was a worry. He needed to tell her about his imminent departure, as well as his return soon after, but he suddenly felt very unsure as to how she would respond to such news, or any implications she may draw from the declaration.

“My father has informed me of a duty I must attend to back at the Serpent castle. I am scheduled leave the day after the wedding festivities in a weeks time.”

Betty’s entire teasing demeanor crumbled around her, and her composure wavered as she dropped her hands from Jughead’s waist as she physically moved away from him, and into the glow of ballroom’s light. She looked so much like an angel then, her obvious anxiety the only hint shattering that illusion. “Oh. So soon. No longer keen to tarry another month in the dreary River Kingdom?” She tried to frame the last question as a teasing joke, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Jughead was frozen momentarily by her doubt. The same doubt that overtook him while she was dancing with Archie, and his heart twisted for causing her such turmoil. He grabbed her hand and tugged her back with him into the shadows, one hand gripping her waist while the other cupped her face, capturing her attention.

“Betts, you misunderstand. There is a duty that must be performed at home, but I plan to return here, after a week has passed.”

Betty stood so still Jughead feared she had stopped breathing, but the she quietly voiced, “For how long?”

Jughead wanted to ask for her hand now, to dispense with the cryptic riddles that plagued these types of conversations and to rid her completely of her unsurety. Alas, he had promised his father to postpone any engagement until after his return, and until after the River royal wedding had passed. In a darker corner of Jughead’s mind he recognized he wanted to have that week apart from Betty, to ensure that after a distance away she would still want him as desperately as he would always want her.

So instead, he looked deeply into her wide eyes and whispered, “That depends entirely on you, Betts.”

A brilliant smile played on her lips, as the implication of his statement took root in her mind. She was so intelligent, his girl, he should have trusted her to parse out all possible double meanings.

A tear formed in fear and sadness, but released in newfound happiness wound its way down her cheek, and Jughead reached out to wipe it away. Betty grabbed his hand to keep it upon her face as she pulled him in for a kiss. Jughead was wearing his formal black jacket, with a tunic underneath, and Betty had skillfully unclasped the top several fastenings so that her hand could seek out his bare chest, her cold fingers still leaving a burning trail. Her dress hugged her so tightly, it was almost as if he were grasping her bare body. That thought spurned a low growl in his chest as he moved his lips from the pulse point on her neck to her lips. This time when her lips parted, their tongues met, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world. 

Such notions were interrupted by sudden loud voices by the courtyard entrance. They were still alone, but their privacy now seemed in jeopardy.

Jughead, hearing the music of the last dance end, and the rustle of partner changes begin, rested his forehead against Betty’s.

“Dance with me?”

Her only response was a coy smile as she grasped his hand and led him inside, as they took their respective places in the line.

The dance was a slower set, a flourish of coming together and running away. It was called informally the courtship dance, the moniker easily earned. Its sauciness was increased by the placement of the dancers hands. The lead would place his or her hand on the small their partner’s back, and their partner would reciprocate with a touch to the cheek or shoulder. The end and beginning of the dance included a promenade wherein the couples would move about the line face forward, one set of hands grasped at the hip, the other extended out but firmly intertwined.

It was the dance one wanted if you desired your partner to know that your interest in them was beyond a friendly coupled dance. 

While Jughead had every intention of dancing the remaining of evening with Betty, it would have been a false claim for him to venture this was not the dance that he wanted with her.

The beginning promenade was relatively chaste, as their hands rested high on Betty’s hip, and the grasp was light on both hands. The eyes in the hall, however remained trained on the pair of them, and they both were not unaware of the stares.

Feeling defiant, Jughead placed a small kiss on the column of her neck as they parted to begin the main section of the dance. The effect was instantaneous, with the murmurs and glances racing through the hall, even amongst their fellow dancers. When they met in the middle of the dancing line they only had several seconds of conversation, but Betty with her blushing face was eager to chide her partner.

“Jughead, the entirety of this ballroom believes we are being indiscreet.”

As it came time for Jughead to place his hand on Betty’s back, it was far lower than the dance required.

“I willfully acknowledge how indiscreet..” he dropped his hand just low enough that it stayed on her back and did not venture to other more scandalous places, but low enough that all saw and understood his intent, “...I am behaving.”

Betty was still flushed when they parted, but her eyes were alight with fire, “What conclusions do you think we can inspire?” She said this as she brought her own hand to his face, and trailed it down slowly, causing her to visually be a step behind everyone else, inspiring even more gasps in the crowd.

Jughead smirked, his heart racing, “There is only one way to discover such truth.”

When they joined together again his placement of his hand on her lower back garnered a gasp from Betty as he gripped a spot he knew to be sensitive. He leaned forward to her ear and hummed, “Now they believe I am whispering all the places I wish to kiss you,” he lingered at her ear before moving back as the dance required, Betty blushing with all the possibilities, her complexion helping to enrich his story.

Rushing back to him she placed her hand on his cheek as required, but then moved it down to his neck pressing her face closed to his ear as she purred, “And here I am disclosing the location of our clandestine meeting.” She pulled away as Jughead glanced behind Betty to view the whispering and scandalized faces of the elder non-dancing courtiers around them. 

“The crones behind you are certain you are trying to land the last available prince in the Allied Kingdoms,” he could not actually hear them, but their body language was so loud and their words so over pronounced they may as well have been shouting.

Betty returned for their final meet in the middle and as she grabbed him she hoarsely asked, “Have I not already succeeded?” She underscored the statement by digging her nails into Jughead’s shoulder and biting her lip. Pulling away from Jughead’s tightened grip and low growl.

As they joined for their final line, Jughead gripped her hip with his fingers splayed wide and with their opposite grip he intertwined their fingers and her moved her back into his body, moving as if they were one. He leaned his head to whisper, his breath fanning her neck, “I suggest you dance with this prince for the rest of the evening, to ensure you have secured your quarry.”

They reformed their separated lines as the dance ended, and bowed toward each other. The rest of the couples eyed them warily as they went to seek out their next dancing partner. Adam Chisholm, brave and foolish soul, neared them in an effort to seek Betty’s hand for the next set, but a dark look from Jughead had him scurrying in a different direction. 

Betty, oblivious to the spurned intruder, moved closer, almost flush to Jughead’s chest, visibly affected and rising and falling more rapidly in time to his breath. 

“A sacrifice well worth the effort I might think,” she glanced at some of the whispering noblepersons behind Jughead, “Besides, think of what other rumours we might inspire.”

And so they passed the evening together, chancing touches and slight kisses when no one was looking, and even as the wine took hold, ignoring such propriety altogether. Happy, to simply be in each other’s company.

It was this ease of affection that had comforted Jughead the most, Betty would not be so forward with him if she did not intend to become his wife. He let the surety of that thought deepen with every dance, every shared tease, and every lingering glance, until the doubt that had chased him ever since her opening dance with Archie had been almost entirely banished.

Jughead and Betty were the talk of the entire hall, as rumours swirled of a possible political upheaval between a match of the Serpent Prince and the richest estate in any kingdom. Every soul had an opinion, save for one couple. A couple, who valuing privacy above all else, had absconded away from the rest of the hall and out into a shadowed corridor, away from most of the prying eyes and ears of the guests.

It was an innocently meant escape, but perhaps if the young man who instigated the rendezvous had foreseen the events that would take place because of his endeavours, he have done away with the fancy altogether.

***

The boy was ridiculous with handsomeness.

It dripped off of him like the fine furs he wore, signifying that he came from one of the chilly Northern Kingdoms. As one of the few foreign nobles who was present before the actual wedding festivities in a weeks time, he had few acquaintances, and Kevin was all too willing to fill that void, in whatever ways were necessary. 

That currently meant having him pinned against a wall in an abandoned corridor, far enough away from gossipers, but close enough to hear the music and maintain the thrill of escape. Unfortunately, the courtier, whose name was both unimportant and unknown to Kevin, wished to speak with his tongue rather than use it for more enjoyable pursuits.

“Who was the girl dancing with the prince, she was not his fiance, and yet she seemed to be so...comfortable with him, no?”

Ah, yes. Betty’s oddly familiar dance with Archibald. Kevin easily recognized Betty’s eagerness, meaning she had other motives in play for her dance with the prince. While he was intrigued by what possibly could have her associate with who she called the “ginger devil,” there was no avenue to extract the truth from her without revealing her trickery. Since he was certain to coax the truth out of it later, he ignored her schemes in favor of his own. 

He looked curiously at the man in front of him, who was greedily awaiting any gossip Kevin might give him. 

They truly were two birds of a feather and all other cliches. 

He thought for a moment about giving the man the truth, that Betty had no intention of stealing away the groom a week before his wedding, but Kevin instead decided to have a little fun. Given the boy’s dress, he could rank no higher than a Baron, and since none of his countrymen and women were present there would be little time to spread such rumour before the wedding festivities. So he unwound a skewed, yet more entertaining version of the truth.

“Archie has been in love with Betty since they were children, but money and power had other inclinations for them both.”

The boy placed a hand over his heart, “How tragic.”

Kevin deployed a long wistful sigh before continuing, “Archie’s torch has long burned brightly, but one cannot deny the wealth and opportunity that Veronica brings to the kingdom. Archie has always been loyal to duty over love.” Kevin leaned in for a kiss, believing such wistfulness would be gems enough to appease the gossipy vulture before him.

The boy stopped him with a soft hand to the chest, “Yes, but the Cooper lady is now heir to her duchy, yes? Everyone, even the Northern Kingdoms are aware of their wealth and of her beauty. Her succession surely makes her as profitable a bride as the Westerner?”

Kevin had to stifle a groan, both at the assumption that his friends were property with a monetary value, and that the adorable fling before him seemed to be more of a busybody than he.

Luckily the boy seem sated, and giggled, “Well I suppose the prince has an entire week to change his mind.” Kevin was about to protest when the boy grabbed him by the shoulders and spun them around so that Kevin’s back it the wall, the boy following soon after with a passionate kiss. After several minutes had passed, both men had forgotten the conversation, as lightly meant and teasing as it was, and as distracted as they were on more interesting matters.

The conversation remained of great interest, however to the dark figure eavesdropping at the end of the hallway. He had held suspicions surrounding the Cooper family ever since the Duke’s inept meddling the week prior, and these whisperings suggested a threat that needed further investigation. If more inconveniences needed to be dealt with based on those findings, all the better.

Hiram Lodge was not a man easily beaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not as sorry as I should be for that cliffhanger. Tee hee.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Leave a comment, kudos if the spirit moves ya!


	13. Mother's Intuition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million and one thanks to sullypants for beta-ing this chapter!! Enjoy!

Alice was in no temper to train a new maid when, exactly, it was proper to wake a Duchess. Whatever poorly trained mule was mucking about in her sitting room disturbing her precious time of rest would simply have to be removed from service and replaced with a more competent subject, if such a creature was to be found. 

She idly reached for the dressing gown she had carelessly tossed on the opposite side of the bed, knowing there would be no one to complain of its presence. She was slowly wrapping the garment around her when a more aggressive thump sounded from the sitting room, urging Alice to investigate with more alacrity. She opened the door from her bed chamber silently, but let out a curt shout upon witnessing the crime before her.

A Rider—merchant class based on the colors he wore—froze mid-step, and mid-success if the look of elation on his face was any indication. His face fell, and Alice could see the brewing of a lie behind his young face. 

“Morning madam, I apologize for the intrusion. The Hall was informed of an incorrect delivery of a package to the castle, and I meant to simply locate the item without further disturbance to your morning.” He seemed proud of his makeshift explanation, but the pride on his face dissolved as he watched Alice’s unamused expression.

“The lockbox is mine, young man, you may place it back on the table from whence you thieved the contraption.”

“Madam–”

A slow chiding shush fell from Alice, silencing the boy who had lost all power in the conversation, if he possessed any to begin with.

“You address a noble woman either by her rank, or by ‘my lady’ or ‘your ladyship.’ It is no mystery why you have been assigned to the merchant class of riders.” During her verbal dressing down of the poor lad, Alice had snatched the lockbox away from his grip as she sat down on the lounge, the offending object settled in her lap. She broke her gaze away from the stunned Rider, an indication that he was dismissed.

The boy was struck with one last fit of energy–fueled by fear or pride Alice could not identify– as he straightened to his maximum, though unimpressive height. “With all due respect,  _ my lady _ , how am I certain that the box was indeed intended for you.”

Alice moved her gaze to the child and slowly, without looking at the tumbler, entered the correct combination. There was a soft click as the lid released from the latch. Alice cocked her head at the boy, and shooed him away with her hand, not deigning to waste any more words on him.

The boy, realizing his defeat, started to shake with the ramifications of his failure. Alas, there was nothing more to be done as he jerked a swift bow toward the Duchess, and exited the room with staggered steps.

As the door fastened closed, Alice released the shuddering breath she had been holding, her entire body giving into the tremble that threatened to overtake her. She stared at the box in front of her, dreading lifting the lid to reveal the contents it held.

She knew in her bones what dark secrets lay idle within, but she wished to hold onto the illusion of denial as long as she was able. However, if someone sent an errand boy to steal these secrets, she knew that her ignorance was no longer a valid alternative.

With shallow breaths, Alice drew the documents out of their wooden container and perused the contents, her heart growing heavier and her fear increasing with every word she read. When she was finished, she thrust the documents back in their cage and relocked the box. It was a symbolic gesture: the secrets were no longer safe, and neither was the Cooper family.

“Hal, what the hell have you done.”

***

The convent loomed before them; it was the only proper way to describe the attitude of the structure. Although built with the same sand-colored stone as the River Castle, the walls had darkened in consequence of some natural phenomena, giving the building a foreboding figure. Betty attempted to ignore the tug at her heart that reminded her that this was now Polly’s home, its shadowed appearance so different from her sister’s golden light.

From the horse beside her, she heard a small voice clearing as Cheryl dismounted from her ride, motioning to the young novitiates who were approaching to take their horses. Two of the girls–the pair could not have aged more than sixteen–relieved them of their horses, and indicated the location of the stable, where they could find their steeds upon the termination of their visit. An older novitiate (older in this instance meaning she had just escaped her teen-aged years) escorted them into the convent and to the Mother Superior, a severe looking woman with deep creases in her visage and stooped posture. 

To her great relief, Betty found the Mother to be direct and no-nonsense, if slightly impersonal. Once she had taken ample time to confirm that Archibald’s decree was legitimate, she was swift in dispatching a nun to bring Betty and Cheryl to Polly’s living quarters. The assigned nun went over simple ground rules, and indicated where they should depart when the time came, but the entire endeavour was completed almost entirely without ceremony. 

The only true indication of the magnitude of the visit was Cheryl’s uncharacteristic shortness of breath as they wound their way through the corridors toward Polly.

Polly’s room in the convent was small but oddly private, situated in a corner of the building, and facing one of the many gardens surrounding the structure. Betty’s heart alternated between beating too loudly and ceasing to beat entirely, the inconsistency causing beads of sweat to form on her brow. Needing to be grounded to sanity, she grasped Cheryl’s hand as they softly pushed the door open into the room.

As if expecting their entrance, Polly turned, and giggled in a disconcertingly high pitch as she threw her  arms wide. She voiced Betty’s name in shrill squeal as she leisurely moved into Betty’s stunned and tentative hold.

“Betty! What took you so long to visit us, the baby will be so excited to greet her aunt.” Polly did not acknowledge Cheryl’s presence, even after Cheryl gasped upon Polly’s declaration. Polly patted Betty’s cheek lovingly, like she was wont to do normally, but that is where the ordinary ended in this situation. Polly was acting as if no time, and no events of significance had passed between them.

As if they last time that they saw each other, Polly was not wailing the loss of her lover while fighting for her own well-being. And apparently the fate of her unborn child.

Dear lord, a child.

Her sister spun towards a makeshift cradle previously unnoticed in the room, as Betty battled her shock in an effort to assemble some sort of coherent logic from this situation. Polly was pregnant when Jason died? But she could not have been more than five months into that pregnancy, how could she already have birthed the infant? 

Beside her Cheryl’s breaths had quickened and it was not until Betty heard soft hiccups that she recognized they were quiet sobs. Neither were prepared when Polly walked gingerly towards them, eyes wide and expectant, with a bundle cradled in her arms.

A bundle made entirely of tattered blankets.

Polly cooed at the fabricated infant, turning to Cheryl and Betty with a look of extreme pride, “Is he not handsome, like his father?”

Suddenly deeply out of her element, Betty knew she needed to guide Polly into a coherent conversation, if such an exchange was possible, but she also needed to keep her sister guileless—and pointing out that her child was little more than air and linen was counterintuitive to that initiative. Beside her, Cheryl took her unnoticed presence as an opportunity to draw a sense of normalcy and lucidity from Polly.

“Polly, it has been ages since we have last spoken, are you well, my lady?” Betty noted that Cheryl had adopted a kind tone meant to placate Polly. Never, in all the years of their acquaintance had Cheryl ever been so kind to the eldest Cooper. This, oddly more than the makeshift child of Polly’s imagination, set Betty on edge.

Polly finally acknowledged the redhead, and gave a small gasp of delight as she gingerly put the blankets back into the crib. “Cheryl! How thrilled I am to see you, particularly given your loss.” Polly’s tone was almost smug as she moved towards the bed while motioning to some stiff looking chairs that faced opposite of her. 

While Polly’s attention was otherwise occupied, Cheryl turned her wide eyes to Betty, who gave a small shrug but offered in an unsure voice, “A loss you are handling better than I expected, Pol.” Upon Betty’s comment, Polly gave her an admonishing though entertained glance, as if Betty were being indelicate toward Cheryl, but they would gossip about the misfortune at a later time. 

Polly refocused her attention to Cheryl, her sweet voice dripping with condescension as she cooed, “I know, Cheryl, it must have been difficult for you when Jason chose to run away with me, instead of staying with you. But you must understand, one’s children will always take priority.” Tears were again escaping unchecked from her friend, and Betty seized the opportunity both to give Cheryl relief from the uncomfortable conversation, and to draw out truth from her sister.

“Polly, I have not seen you in two months, have you been here this whole time?” Betty did her best to infuse a sense of wonder and curiosity into her tone to keep her sister docile and co-operative. The story Polly had to tell would clearly be infused with self denial, but that does not mean it was not based on truth. Polly seemed eager to share her story, as she sat forward on the bed, eyes wide.

“After the night of the attack, obviously it was imperative that Jason escape into hiding until it was safe for him to come back to us. Mother then brought us here to keep us unseen and protected until his return.”

Betty nodded, taking measure of the situation. Polly was in denial about the death of Jason, and presumably their child, though she did not deny that an attack took place, meaning the details of the event itself should remain unsullied by her delusion.

“Polly, what happened that night, mother took you away so quickly, I have been so worried for you.”

Polly reached out to grab Betty’s hand in gratitude as she answered, “I am sorry if I have caused you stress my dear Betty, but given the threat upon my child’s and my lives, Mother thought it was best to hide me here.” 

Polly sat back with a look of concentration on her face, drawing her hands together during her recollection, “As for that night, I had been waiting for Jason to climb through the window for our planned escape from the River Kingdom. When he arrived, he was concerned that he was being followed, and we argued about which route we should follow to avoid the unwanted guests. During this argument that the two men attacked, I did not recognize either of their faces.”

At the mention of the argument Polly’s gaze clouded over almost into a state of catatonia before she looked back to Betty and Cheryl, her placidity restored.

“Why were you running, Polly?” Betty asked it so softly, and she eased the question by moving to sit next to Polly on the bed, holding Polly’s hand and rubbing slow circles with her thumb into her sister’s palm. A soothing pattern for an unwound mind.

“His father...” she nodded to Cheryl, her voice losing some of its evenness, “...your father, was so angry with Jason. They fought, and Jason said he could not live in the kingdom anymore. That the Forest Kingdom was no longer the land he loved and desired to rule. He discovered something…something important I was supposed to find…” Polly stared out toward the window, focus fraying as she fell into hazy recollection.

“A book?” Betty gently offered.

Polly nodded, but her gaze was still out of focus. Cheryl, losing patience with Polly, took it upon herself to expedite the questioning, her tone losing all the gentleness it had displayed earlier.

“Why would Jason flee from his home, from his title? While I may not have approved of your marriage, I am certain my parents would have been salivating at the opportunity to take over the Cooper duchy.”

Polly kept shaking her head, “No, no… Jason no longer harboured any desire to be king, so he told them he would step down. His parents were glad for it, but I cannot recall for what reason. But when they found out about the baby they were so angry...Jason was so scared...insisted we had to leave...warned we could never return…”

Cheryl grabbed at Polly, “Why was he running, Polly? Why did he no longer wish to rule?”

Polly stood, becoming increasingly confused, and Betty grabbed angrily at Cheryl to get her away from her sister as Polly started pacing about the room. Her carefully constructed peace was falling apart before them, “The Blossoms were doing...something...Jason did not approve...they agreed to his exile...but then the baby...the baby...the babies…”

_ Babies. _

Polly threw herself toward the crib, and began tearing at the blankets while moaning and crying to herself. Betty tried to move toward Polly to give her comfort, but Cheryl held her firmly in place and whispered that Polly needed this. Betty deeply disagreed, but even as strong as Betty was, Cheryl’s grasp was ironclad.

Suddenly, Polly’s histrionics ended, and it was as if a cloud had passed over Polly’s sunshine. She now appeared ashen and shadowed. Turning toward her visitors she looked confused. Her eyes found her sister and she sighed through a shallow, tearless sob.

“Bett— Betty…”

Polly did not weep, did not fall into catatonia, but she no longer held onto the denial that kept her lucid and helpful just moments before. This was truer, more sane in a way. As eager as Betty was for the truth, she could not bear to break the shell of her sister open any further by agitating her is so raw a state.

Cheryl held no such qualms.

“Polly, do you remember what we were speaking of?”

Betty glared at her friend, but was shamefully thankful that Cheryl was forceful enough to continue the line of questioning. This was a Polly who recognized the cold truth of her situation, and did not linger behind carefully constructed partial realities. Polly peered at her and nodded as she picked herself up from the floor, using Betty as support. Her energies were brief, however, as she slowly shuffled her way to the bed, propping her  upper body on the plain headboard. 

“You were asking about the night Jason died. I told you what I remember.”

Betty could feel the exhaustion pulsing off of her sister, but she had one last question to ask. “When did you lose—” Betty trailed off abruptly, not knowing whether to address the pregnancy as a single or multiple child loss.

“That evening. The surgeon at the healing house knew that the babies could not survive the stab wounds, and mother brought me to the convent to heal. And to mourn.” Polly closed her eyes, and found one tear left in her body to shed. 

“I was pregnant with twins. I did not know, not until...after. During the...episodes...I only focus on one child. I do not comprehend why...”

Suddenly snapping her eyes open, she was fully present, looking at Betty with weary but sharp focus. “I am glad you are now heir of the estate Betty, that is how it always should have been. I am at peace here with the sisters, like one day I may be whole again.” She closed her eyes and shifted her body down the bed so that her head rested on the pillow.

“Betty, I wish for you to stay, I have missed you, but I find myself so tired.” The words were so faint, their effort so clearly heard.

Betty could already see Polly drifting off to sleep, and she stared unmoving at her slumbering form. Cheryl came from behind Betty and and brushed her cheek, drawing attention to the tears that had fallen without Betty’s knowing. Cheryl nodded at her with a kindness she only graced upon those she loved, and took her hand as an indication that it was time to leave. Betty moved a stray curl away from Polly’s face and tucked it behind her ear, a simple act that would have to act as her goodbye.

As they neared the threshold of the door, they were stopped by Polly’s small voice softly calling Cheryl’s name.

“Cheryl. You were the one person Jason did not want to leave, and that is why he could not bear a goodbye.” Polly turned over so that her back was facing them. Cheryl stared at the figure, her expression unreadable and her body unmoving. Betty had to guide Cheryl, with small force, back into the corridor, where they encountered the Mother Superior waiting for them, pity making the blue of her eyes cut like ice.

“I apologize, one of the nuns who is a nurse to Polly mentioned she was having one of her episodes. I regret you had to see your sister in such a condition, Lady Cooper.” Her statement was meant for Betty but her glance was for Cheryl, who was struggling to maintain her stoic disposition.

“How frequently does she alternate between these two moods?” Betty asked, thankful the Mother was kind enough to share the details of her sister’s health.

The Mother paused to look at Polly’s door before she guided them slowly down the corridors toward their eventual exit. “The spells of delusion are happening less frequently, and her descent into lucidity less violent, but they still occur every other day. An improvement, I assure you. Losing those children, and reconciling herself with the loss will be a long process.”

Sensing a valuable source, Betty pressed on, keeping a firm hold on Cheryl’s hand and periodically squeezing the grip as a sign of comfort. “Did she say anything more, when she first came to the convent?”

“Nothing coherent, and your mother was vigilant over her, keeping aid away when Polly’s lips were too loose.”

Alice Cooper was, as ever, a tyrant of control when it came to the well-being of her daughters and the Cooper name. No other interpretations or suggestions were required once her mother had decided what was best. She was however, much like her youngest daughter, an investigator. She would have made certain she knew exactly what she was protecting Polly and the family from before enacting her tactics of diversion. 

Bitten with the venom of suspicion, Betty increased the rate of their exit, eager to get back to the castle and find her mother, and preferably with Jughead by her side. Her mother was a formidable opponent, and she would feel stronger with Jughead’s presence as a boon.

Cheryl and Betty were halfway back to the castle, Betty deep into her own thoughts of confronting her mother, when she glanced at her companion and was startled by the paleness of her complexion. Cheryl looked lost, her horse the only guide of her movement, her eyes lost in the space before her.

“Are you well, Cher?”

Cheryl turned so abruptly that the horse swayed slightly in Betty’s direction. 

“Yes, just...Jason.” Cheryl gripped the reins of the horse tighter, turning the knots of her hands bone white. “He would have been a wonderful father.” She managed a small smile before she broke their eye contact to stare at the mane of the horse in front of her. Betty knew how deeply Cheryl cared for her brother, but had not given much thought to how her friend would have regarded any potential nieces or nephews. It hit her sharply, then, that given Cheryl had every intention to spend the rest of her life with Toni (arranged marriages be damned), she may never bear a child of her own. 

Whether this thought had occurred to Cheryl as an epiphany brought on by Polly’s statement, or a long held aggravated grief, Betty remained silent for the rest of the journey to gift Cheryl some time for introspection.

The sun had begun its descent into the horizon as the ladies guided their horses through the main cobbled entryway of the River Castle. Betty was reassured by the color that had returned to Cheryl’s face as they conveyed their horses off to the stable hands and entered the castle.

They were in a corridor off of the main hall when Betty stopped Cheryl with her hand and asked, “I presume you are off to find, Toni?”

“Indeed. She is on patrol, and while I abhor wandering in any capacity, I believe my lady is worth that effort.” Upon viewing Betty’s sly smile, Cheryl’s eye narrowed in suspicion, “You know where she is stationed.”

Betty shrugged, but added, “I sought Jughead this morning before our departure. He and Toni are on patrol together today, sparring in consequence of the boredom.” Toni had found them just as Betty was departing, and was stunned that Jughead still gave her a kiss goodbye. It shortened her breath to know he felt comfortable enough in front of their friend to be so bare in his affection.

It appeared to amuse Toni as well.

Cheryl tapped her foot in impatience, and since Betty desired a favor, she immediately acquiesced, “They are near the miller’s keep, their watch should be ending soon.” Betty applied a gentle squeeze to Chery’s forearm.“ When you find them, will you kindly inform Jughead to meet me in our study? I would perform the errand myself but I need to find Alice—” 

As if she a demon summoned from depths upon the invocation of her name, her mother flurried from around the corner in a rush. Alice’s focus narrowed onto Betty, annoyance rolling from her in steady pulses. Her only greeting was a shouted demand for Elizabeth to join her in an anteroom just off the corridor. Upon the decree, she entered the room without waiting to see if her daughter would observe the command.

Annoyed, but understanding full well her mother’s dramatic mandate aligned with her own agenda, she rolled her eyes at Cheryl. “Given that performance, instruct Jughead to find us hence.” She did not think that her conversation with the Duchess would be a brief encounter. 

Cheryl gave an annoyed sigh at being the recipient of an order, but knowing she could not deny her friend a favor that would cause her no exerted effort, she nodded slightly as she departed to fulfill the request.

Betty waited several moments in the corridor, childishly hoping it would force her mother to come back into the hall to fetch her daughter. Alas, Alice was confident in her ability to manipulate, and remained unseen and unheard within the privacy of the room.

Realizing that resistance was an exercise in futility, Betty entered the anteroom, not closing the door entirely so that Jughead would be able to find the Cooper women with ease, although Betty suspected the volume of the forthcoming conversation would be direction enough. 

Her mother’s sharp eyes . She peered just long enough for the beginnings of discomfort to brew in Betty’s gut before speaking. “Where, precisely, did you run off to this morning, Elizabeth? And with the demon princess, no less?”

Crossing her arms, Betty tried to match her mother’s intense glare before responding. “Archie granted me royal access to visit my sister at the convent, since my mother was unwilling to bestow the same courtesy.” 

Alice’s lips drew into a tighter line, but otherwise her expression remained stony.

“And what, pray tell, did you discover? Which Polly was of present mind today? Did she introduce you to her joyful bundle of blankets.”

Betty winced at the blunteness of tone, but there was a small comfort that Alice was not going to pretend with Betty. But then, she supposed her mother could no longer maintain her deception, not in the face of Betty’s jaunt to the convent.

“Polly was with child. She and Jason were running away.” There were other facts and suspicions that Betty had inferred from their conversation. The Blossoms did not kill their son, but they wanted him out of the line of succession. Polly and Jason’s unborn child  threatened their plan, though Betty struggled to understand how, if Jason was willing forgoing the crown. His future children would be removed from the line of succession under that mandate. All these questions she would save for Jughead. She needed to be more selective with the Duchess.

“Then you understand why she needed to be protected by the sisters. She was an intended target of the attack and those babies were a casualty!” Alice let a small slip of pure emotion escape as she added, “I did not desire for Polly to have to be seen by others, even her sister, during her time of grieving. The healers believe it may be beyond five passing seasons before Polly’s sanity is fully restored. Even then, she will never be the same.”

Alice’s voice had started to shake, and briefly Betty felt remorse. She had never seen her mother with so tenuous a hold on her emotions. The sight unnerved her, and Betty started to suspect that her clandestine visit to Polly was not the primary force dictating the interrogation of her daughter.

The Duchess took several steadying breaths, her demeanor rigid as she redirected her temper toward Betty. “You did not go to the convent to see your sister. You went to investigate, an endeavour I now forbid you to pursue.”  

Betty closed her eyes, willing her temper to simmer. “I needed to see her mother. The constable believes Jason’s murderer to be your husband, a conclusion we both understand to be false. In your own confession, you fear for Polly’s life as an intended target, why would you not want to locate the danger? Jug—The Serpent Prince and I have been making progress toward the truth. If you simply—”

Alice batted the rebuttal away with a shaky flick of her hand, “I simply must do nothing. Polly is no longer in peril, but you are carelessly risking your own life in a fruitless pursuit. The masterminds of the crime achieved their goal, let us not inspire further violence by agitating the unknown.”

Betty’s mouth fell into a soft “o” shape, the implication of her mother’s warning unintentionally revealing at least one of her secrets. “Polly was not a target, at least not primarily. Her child was, that is why their violence was directed near her womb.” Anger at her mother’s deception strengthened the volume of Betty’s voice. “You know! You and father both know who attacked Polly and why, and you have been impeding the pursuit of justice for Jason.” As plea to Alice’s suffocated emotions, Betty added, “Or the justice for your grandchildren!”

Alice’s entire stance was immediately defensive. “I believe I understand a possible motive, but not who carried out the crime, nor do I plan to disturb the hive to receive the sting of meddling. Your father is now a fugitive for airing his concerns, a cautionary tale you should take more seriously.” 

Alice moved forward, anticipating Betty’s next interruption, “He did not air his suspicions with me. If his gutless escape is any indication, your father flustered the responsible parties, and now you are fatherless.” Under her breath she added, “Even under the protection of impenetrable blackmail your father could not threaten successfully.”

Alice had wrested the command away from Betty, and moved on with her agenda. “Now, Elizabeth, you are heir to possibly the richest estate in this world, and I have raised you to be a queen.” Alice removed any final sign of her previously ruffled state as she dictated, “Given that pedigree, I expect you to have obtained a fiancé of noble birth within the month.” There was no suggestion to the Duchess’ tone, only demand.

A burst of air puffed from Betty’s chest, but she could not combat the shock to the point of forming speech, an advantage her mother grasped greedily with her talons.

“You have charmed the entire population of the River Kingdom, and any man given an indication of your interest would fall over himself to become your husband, a fact that I am aware gives you great pride.” Betty rolled her eyes, as a weak rebuttal, the intensity of the conversation sitting on her heart and robbing her of response.

“Given the unfortunate fact that the reputation of the Cooper name has been tarnished, your eligibility is vulnerable.  _ You  _ are vulnerable, so you must act quickly. Acknowledging the direness of the situation, and your impressive ability to wrap them around your fingertips, I insist you marry a prince. It is the most ideal of solutions.”

Betty was frustratingly familiar with her mother’s intended target for her marriage, and in her anger she found her voice to remark, “Archibald is engaged to be married mother.”

Alice gave her a knowing look with a cock of her head, “I saw the pair of you dancing this past evening. you would have to exert little effort to change that boy’s mind.” With a brief flash of mania in Alice’s eyes she allowed Betty another option, “Oh perhaps that Serpent Prince is a more reasonable option. In fact, his wealth and his army are far superior to the River Kingdom’s options.” Alice’s voice quickened with the possibility, “I am sure you shall have no effort in getting him to accept you as a wife. He has been a bachelor for so long, and he is from the  _ Serpent _ Kingdom. I know the kingdom is the lesser of the three Allied, but think of the wealth, Betty. I am sure he will be eager for the opportunity to obtain a wife of your caliber. As he is three years from the age of succession, you would be queen even sooner...” Alice continued with rapid muttering, but her daughter could and would not acknowledge any more.

The anger ripped through Betty with such violence she was surprised it did not physically move her mother. Jughead was not a prize to be won, nor a pawn to move in this game of power. He was rapidly becoming the single most important person in Betty’s world and to lessen him to nothing more than a representative opportunity was insulting. Not to mention that Betty had yet to meet an unworthy human being from the Serpent Kingdom, proving them to be the greatest of three Allied, regardless of monetary status. Prior to this deeply unpleasant conversation, she had every intention of informing her mother of the growing attachment between herself and Jughead, particularly now that they had skirted around a conversation of marriage. But now, admitting her intentions would feel akin to a dirty concession, and an unearned victory for her mother. She wanted to prove to her mother that Jughead, and his kingdom, were worthy on their own merits, and not worthy based on ease of manipulation. 

Choosing her words carefully, she used every ounce of strength to keep her voice detached. “Prince Forsythe should not be married based alone on the strength of his army, the magnitude of his wealth, nor his proximity to the age of succession.” He should be married because of his wit, the softness in his eyes as he watches Betty ponder a problem, and because his kisses taste better than any chocolate Betty had yet to encounter. 

Something inside Alice snapped, the tension she used to temper and move the conversation bursting in an almost tangible outside force. “That is exactly why you must Elizabeth. You could not have been blessed with this beauty and charm for nothing!”

It was the desperation in her mother’s voice that stopped Betty. Alice Cooper was a domineering woman possessing many frustrating qualities. She spoke without regard to human frailty, believing if one did not have the common sense to take criticism as an opportunity for personal enhancement, that individual was not worth her time or coddling. This attitude lended itself to a sort of haphazard love toward her daughters. Betty never once doubted Alice’s fierce protection, but was constantly wary of her methods. This lack of control, however, was so rare a break in the constructed personality of the Duchess, it was enough for Betty to lower her hackles, if only slightly.

“Mother, why the sudden urge for marriage?”

After her last exclamation, Alice had turned away from Betty, her back straight and stiff and unyielding to any emotion. Physically moving to stand in front of her mother, Betty had to stifle a gasp upon seeing the tears in her mother's eyes.

“Elizabeth, I need you to be protected. There are powers at work greater than you or I, and I fear that only the protection of a crown can save you. Please—if last night is any indication, either remaining Allied Prince would quickly agree to marry you.” Betty scoffed at the absurdity, but Alice grasped her hand, eyes wide, “Neither boy is cruel, you could learn to love either in time,” 

It was very obviously an unneeded plea.

“While I am loathe to give you the satisfaction, a prince has already captured my heart.”

Alice’s sharp gaze refocused upon Betty’s whispered confession. “Care to elaborate, young lady?”

Betty felt as if she had gained enough footing to tell her mother about Jughead, but she tread lightly as she responded, “I will admit that I have designs to marry a prince of the Allied Kingdom mother.” Alice’s eyes brightened so quickly Betty immediately moved to chastise, “But to be quite clear, I am not marrying him out of your fear but out of my own heart…”

Betty was interrupted by an embrace that suffocated the breath from her, but she allowed the hold to continue until Alice could ably conduct herself in the matter in which she was most accustomed. 

Alice detached herself from Betty and her tone was playful and curious when she asked, “It is the Jones boy that has captured your attention, is it not? He looked at you last evening as if your presence were more crucial than the air in the room.”

The only response Betty could manufacture was a darkening of her cheeks that inspired a low chuckle to rumble deep from her mother’s chest.

“My daughter, in love with a Jones boy. How the fates will laugh.”

***

While Jughead had not wanted to extend his time with Cheryl, he had hoped her direction to Betty would have been far more helpful than her brief, “Find Betty in an anteroom near the main entrance. Her mother is with her.” By the time Jughead had fully comprehended the rushed words, she and Toni where a flash of red and magenta. Pacing the corridor, he encountered half dozen rooms that fit her description, and while Jughead was more than willing to search each for Betty, he would have desired any indication that would have allowed him to reach her sooner.

It was troubling, how much the absence of Betty had negatively affected his day. He had existed, a happy existence one might venture, before Betty Cooper had wandered into his life, but she burned so bright that her absence had left him blinded.

Hearing voices, Jughead’s heart lightened on the likelihood that he had found his quarry. 

“Now, Elizabeth, you are heir to possibly the richest estate in this world, and I have raised you to be a queen. Given that pedigree, I expect you to have obtained a fiancé of noble birth within the month.”

Jughead recognized that voice as Alice, the Duchess Cooper and Betty’s mother. He approached the room but stayed himself outside the door, not wanting to interrupt the argument. Particularly one that pertained to his own desire to confess his intention of marriage to Betty within the month. 

As their argument raised in both volume and emotion, the unease within Jughead increased in tandem. As Alice flippantly mentioned Betty’s ease of attracting suitors, and the purposefulness with which Betty executed that charm, Jughead’s stomach dropped. He had seen the force of her attention, and the results it produced with his own eyes. As suggestions of trapping a prince were introduced by the elder Cooper, he waited breathless for Betty’s rebuttal.

“Archibald is engaged to be married mother.”

His heart rippled down the center. An injury only to be magnified by Alice Cooper’s estimation of his kingdom. His entire work of enhancing the Serpent Kingdom’s respectability decimated in one breath of the woman he had hoped to call his mother through marriage. She was the acme of the northern Allied perspective, holding the opinion that the Serpent Kingdom would always be lesser, regardless of wealth or power.

After Alice’s single-minded plea for Betty to take pity on the Serpent Kingdom by allowing her daughter to become their queen, he waited, his entire body braced against the wall. Hoping for Betty to dismantle her mother’s confidence with the same ease she had dismantled his own, yet somehow, he knew his disappointment was imminent.

“Prince Forsythe should not be married based alone on the strength of his army, the magnitude of his wealth, nor his proximity to the age of succession.”

Jughead could not draw air into his lungs as his heart cleaved in half.

He could not find it in him to stay and hear more, not that he could, given the buzzing through his mind. Through the din, he stumbled his way back to his chamber, his mind a tumble of confusion and despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cliffhangers...tee hee hee. The next chapter is a doozy...
> 
> Hi friends! Long time no post I know. Its been one hell of a shaky start to 2019, like an episode of House over here...ANYWAY, things are on the up and up and hopefully updating will be more regular. 
> 
> Also I am going to shamelessly ask for comments and kudos since its my birthday next week. NO SHAME. ;)


	14. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are reading this chapter because of sullypants. It's that simple. Best beta ever.
> 
> I also wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience. This is a long story. It's got a lot of twisting plot points and character development, and I know that it's harder to engage when there is a gap between updates. I can't promise to be better, but know that I cherish and appreciate every share, comment and kudos, and I will try my darndest to stay on schedule.
> 
> Knowing that people still look forward to this is such a joy. 
> 
> That said. Remember I love you all. Here goes...

The door had taken issue with Jughead, and now refused to open.

A small dent caught his attention near the corner of the door’s knotted wood, and he crouched to take a closer look. He was unable to recall if the mar on the wood’s surface had always been present upon its grains, or if his recent abuse of the door was strong enough to incur such damage. Given the dampness of blood in his boots, he was inclined to believe the latter.

Still in his crouched position, Jughead leaned his forehead against the wood, willing the steadiness of the oak to still the tempest in his mind. Several maids circumvented his position in the corridor, skirts fluttering and voices tittering, and the embarrassment of being witnessed in such a state inspired enough clarity for Jughead to conquer the mechanics of the door and to fall through the threshold. Lying flat on his back, he lifted his legs to gain purchase on the door to swing it closed, permitting his wallowing to fester in the privacy of his chambers.

Jughead gripped his long black hair and pulled, allowing the pain to cut through the din of conflicting emotions. Through the pain he focused on the rhythmic thumping of his twitching foot against the heavy door. Following the beat, he began to organize his thoughts and questions into simple dissectible facts. Jughead prided himself on being an able investigator, and for his own sanity he turned his relationship with Betty into timeline of evidentiary events.

By Jughead’s own amateur aggressiveness and inability to speak with any modicum of tact, his and Betty’s relationship had begun in turmoil. Yet, Betty never outright refused his company or his help regarding the investigation. She aided when haphazardly asked, and though perturbed at the interruption, did not prevent him from joining her on her quest to the inn to search for Jason’s ledger. Was she merely being polite to a man who outranked her? Or was she cultivating an ally?

His heart argued it was Betty’s goodness that searched for the same trait under his surly attitude. His doubt countered that her forgiveness was a measured scheme. But what evidence did he have for such an accusation?

That night at the inn, he recalled the way that she had charmed the innkeeper into what was no doubt a set of free meals and rooms for them. He had started to wonder about the unheard conversation she must have had with that mannerless man to convince him to charge her two rooms for the price of a single; or what amount of charm—and dare he suggest—flirtation were required to secure such a small fee. Jughead entertained the brief consideration that she might have robbed the man entirely.

His mind moved to the Feast of Promise, where the available bachelors circled Betty with a mixture of desire, jealousy, and resentment fostered through their interrupted courtships with Betty. But then—none were outright rejected, correct? All attempted pursuits were intercepted by the jealous Archibald, allowing Betty to remain free but innocent of any heartbreak. Such an end allowed the continuation of presumed favor, and Jughead had no doubt that should she require a service of any of her failed admirers they would readily jump to the task.

Another interrupted suitor was the Rider, Trevor: a soul so deeply bespelled by Betty that he skirted the vows of Ridership to assist in their investigation. A bat of an eyelash and a soft touch were the only tools Betty needed to beguile the young man. He admitted some of his eagerness may have been in pursuit of gaining Jughead’s approval, but the affection toward Lady Cooper was too marked to be misinterpreted. Betty knew she had an ally with the Riders, and she knew that she could exploit such a connection to her advantage.

Just as her mother taught her.

Though he had yet to see her exert her power in cruelty, the ease with which she could turn her power was keenly felt. Despite these troubles, his affection for Betty could reason away all these doubts. He would willingly blind himself to the warnings and the flaws, since they did nothing to darken the pure goodness and purity that Betty showed him and every other human she encountered. She could not possibly fake such sincerity, could she?

Two specific plaguing doubts tugged at his resolve.

He did not want to entertain their value, wanting to grace Betty with his trust; but he was first a sleuth. And he could not leave any detail unparsed to within an inch of reason.

First, was the missing fiancé.

Charles Clayton was, allegedly, the love of young Elizabeth Cooper’s life. And yet. Her love was accused of improper conduct, conduct she could easily disprove, but she remained silent. Instead, she allowed him to lose his title and future livelihood without the passion to pursue him in his banishment. Jughead had wondered if the loss of title and privilege was too much for her to lose. Her logical choice was to stay behind in the hopes of retaining her family’s immense wealth, landing a more prominent prize of a husband.

The second, and more troubling of the two matters was Prince Archibald.

She had clearly held a loathing for the Prince since he banished her betrothed. In her favor, this reaction affirmed her attachment to the former would-be earl. While she maintained the decorum required of a lady toward her future sovereign, her deteriorated regard for Archie was clear, even if the River Prince was willfully blind to her conduct.

Why, then, had she danced with him?

Blinded with initial jealousy, Jughead did not acknowledge the inherent cruelty of her act. She took advantage of Archie’s lingering feelings for her and she manipulated them to achieve her goal. It was a goal she and Jughead shared, and it was corroborated by Archie’s own betrothed, but it still struck as needlessly unkind the more his mind dwelled on it. Archie  _ had _ acted a fool, his proposition to Betty inappropriate enough to tear a small rift in the fabric of the boys’ lifelong friendship. Even still—for Betty to use his naïveté against him...it gave Jughead pause.

The overheard conversation with her mother served to illuminate all the dark questions and fears Jughead had previously ignored. She did not deny intention to marry Archie, though neither did she confirm such a target was in her sights. She did not outright deny her attachment to Jughead, but nor did she refute her ability to maintain the attachment. Parsing through that conversation was futile. The more he attempted to remember the details the more the details shifted into grotesque versions of their source.

But as he entertained these harsh perceptions of Betty’s past actions, his heart leapt to ferociously defend her.

She threw her considerable intellect behind investigating Jason Blossom’s murder, with clear personal gain to her person or her reputation. True: the resolution of the crime would remove suspicion and scandal from her own family, but not enough to justify her pursuit of the murder’s solution. She pursued the truth from the sense of her own moral compass.

At the Feast of Promise, she extended courtesy to the young Chisolm girl, solely to bring joy and happiness to another human’s evening. And though they were resentful of their failed pursuits of the future Duchess, Barons Mantle and Chisolm never gave any indication that Betty promised more than her friendship. Her graciousness in the face of Reginald’s rudeness was borne out of class and etiquette, as opposed to fostering future favor.

Even with Archibald, she was civil around her future king, but did not coddle him into believing she held romantic feelings for him. Archie’s delusions supplied those faint hopes all on his own.

The last time he entertained these worries was the day they visited the Riders, her familiarity with Trevor Brown, and her willingness to lean on him for a favor almost lost him Betty’s favor after he revealed his discomfort. She never pretended that she did not hold sway with those who had pursued her, but she made it clear that the feelings would never extend past friendship and flirtation.

He ought to trust her. Betty had done nothing to dissuade him otherwise, but his doubt, watered by an overheard conversation, had rooted an unshakeable hold his gut.

The worries wrenched open a cyclone of anxiety that ripped through his brain, but it was not the anxiety that stifled his appetite and kept him vigil throughout the evening.

It was that even if all his worst fears were actualized—if Betty was using him to get a crown, in the same way that she, presumably, used the rest of the men in the kingdom—it would not matter. He would still want her with an ache greater than hunger during a famine, thirst during a drought. His desire for her was unshakeable, and his love seemingly unconditional.

But he could not give her his name and his land if he did not trust her, or more to the point, if he did not trust himself.

***

“Your highness?”

This voice was female and tight with anxiety. She must not have wished to disturb Jughead’s presumed sleep or perhaps presumed death given his absence from both dinner the previous evening and his untouched breakfast. The morning bells had chimed their last eleven bright chirps, and Jughead still did not rise from his bed.

His body was heavy with exhaustion but empty with hunger, robbing his mind of any coherent thought. The night was spent racing through both his suspicions towards and feelings for Betty, misshaping his mood into a confused knot, leaving him unable to meet his most basic needs.

“Your highness?” The young girl tried again, her voice louder with increased closeness rather than confidence. “Lady Cooper sent me to assess your health. Are you well?”

Jughead snorted but sat upright, looking toward the door and finding a delicate elven face staring wide-eyed at him. He patted at his torso and was unsurprised to find he still wore his clothing from the day before, but glad that it rendered him decent before such an innocent gaze. He had no patience to deal with any other human, so he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“Well now that you have seen for yourself you may hurry along.”

The girl did not wait for further instruction, and like a mouse scampering across the floor, he heard her exit from his sitting room moments later. With a groan, he lifted his tight and aching limbs out of the bed and shucked his shirt from his body, ambling his way toward the fresh basin of water in his wash chamber. He splashed the lukewarm water on his torso and face, providing the illusion of cleanliness, before he pulled a relatively clean shirt over his messy crown of hair.

Too late he understood that the maid was scurrying off to find Betty, and a cold fear rattled Jughead into a makeshift clarity.

He could not see her like this.

Not when his thoughts were collapsing upon each other and his emotions were stripped raw. He needed to parse out what he had heard with a source who had knowledge around this situation, but would not lie to him. Oddly, the panic provided enough lucidity to offer a lead toward sense and sanity.

Toni.

Her name fought its way to his thoughts, and he clung to it with fierce hope. She was masterful at uncovering the logic in these situations and her loyalty was equally divided between himself and Betty. She would unwind the mess of his brain into coherency. With the hope of council assuaging his mind, Jughead found a sliver of his appetite return as he moved to the chilled morning meal laid out on his sitting room table.

“I am happy to see your appetite has returned.”

Jughead froze mid-bite of his apple, simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the sound of Betty’s voice behind him. He turned around slowly, which as an afterthought he considered a mistake, as it gave her the time to advance toward him, her spirit intoxicating his already incapacitated mind.

Betty balanced a look of concern and relief on her face that was lightened by a smile once she saw Jughead’s relatively healthy complexion. 

“If you are feeling ill, please send a message, I was concerned when you did not find me upon your arrival, and a bit manic when you missed dinner. You must forgive the impropriety of me visiting unannounced, but I wanted to see you in one piece with my own eyes.” She leaned forward mid-ramble to place a burning kiss on his cheek, before turning around to fetch something from the satchel she brought with her. She kept speaking at a rushed pace as she unveiled a travel carafe of coffee she pilfered for him. “Anyway, I have so much to share from yesterday. Polly is...as well as can be expected under the circumstances, but she provided us more information as to the nature of her and Jason’s clandestine departure. 

“Jason and his parents had a falling out of sorts, and he was fleeing the Forest Kingdom both on principle and so his parents could name Cheryl heir. Jason knew what secret his parents were hiding, which is most likely why he took the ledger. I believe it was the Blossoms business partner who had Jason killed, whoever that may be. I would wager that our answers lie in the manifests that Trev is acquiring for us.”

Ah, then it was flirtation well spent.

Jughead winced and quickly took a sip from his stone mug to prevent a crass retort from spilling out of his mouth. He was undoubtedly intrigued by the information that Betty had to offer, and eager to discuss them with his partner, but now was not the time. He needed to speak to Toni, eat, and sleep, preferably in that order, before he could continue any conversation with Betty. He needed to remove her from his chamber. Immediately.

“Betty, we should discuss this in the morrow. I am indeed not feeling myself and need to rest. I will meet you in our study just after seven bells.” His voice was desperate and pleading enough but he added, “Please Betty, go.”

Instead Betty moved toward him, her eyes alarmed, “Jug, this manner is distressing, let me stay and take care of you. I have missed you, and my health is worth the risk.” The small smile she offered wrenched his heart in two.

“Betts. I need you to depart from this room. Now.”

Her alarm was replaced by confusion, “Jug, I do not understand–”

She again moved toward Jughead and he was too frustrated, too exhausted to withhold his emotion, or to check the question that fell from his lips.

“Why did you dance with Archie?”

“Wh-What?”

Jughead almost did not repeat himself, he could pardon the statement as a reaction to lack of sleep. He should insist Betty leave and let Toni ease his worries. He was confident she would be successful, and then he and Betty could continue this life together. But the threat of wonder and uncertainty loomed large, he knew his curiosity would always win.

“At the engagement feast, why did you dance with Archie?” He tried to keep any accusation out of his tone.

Betty looked even more confused as she slowly responded, “Because I needed his permission to see Polly, we discussed my motive–”

“Yes, but why dance with him. You could have had a conversation or asked me to carry out the request. Hell, you could have dispatched Veronica for the favor, but instead you danced with him.”

Betty’s confusion increased, but the alarm again returned to her features, “I wished to make a personal plea.”

Jughead took a deep breath, “But do you not think it is cruel to play with his emotions in such a fashion? Have you granted him clemency for his proposal toward you?”

Blinking rapidly Betty took several steps back from Jughead, “No, but you know that I plan eventually to grant him forgiveness,” Slightly chastened, she added, “I meant him no harm.”

“You own to knowing it could cause him harm though. And what does that illuminate about my character? That I would allow my greatest friend be bewitched by the woman I intend to make my wife?” 

Jughead forced himself to ignore Betty’s gasp at that final word as he continued his increasingly impassioned interrogation. 

“Why risk his emotions in such a ploy?” Jughead’s raised voice caused Betty to flush, but when she spoke her voice was calm and focused.

“Be clear Jug. What are you implying?”

“If I were not intending to court you, would you sway Archie to return his affection to you?”

Betty, even in the throes of personal distress, was ever at the height of intellect. Her face lit with immediate understanding, and she began nodding with relief. “You overheard the conversation with my mother.”

Jughead was slightly taken aback with the candor with which she talked of the conversation. She must have noticed his surprise, because she moved toward him palms out in front of her, “Jughead I am not sure what it is you overheard, but my mother was manic. Something spooked her, which is a topic we should discuss in depth later. But Jug, I told her you are the one I choose.” She reached up to grab his face, but he pulled away.

“Is your choice me, or my crown?” His voice broke on his last word, and he turned away from her, to hide his shining eyes.

Betty’s voice however was thick with incoming tears, “Do you think so little of me Jug? Do you not trust me?” With surprising strength, she forced Jughead to face her, her hands grasping his shoulders.

“I do not trust myself, Betty. Thoughts of you shadow my every action and every motivation. The feelings I have for you are terrifying and all consuming.” Jughead clawed at his chest while he spoke, as if he could release the tension of these feelings by tearing them out of his body.

There were tears welling in Betty’s eyes. “I feel that same overwhelming need, Jug. And it frightens me as well, but we can find salvation in each other. Be the other’s strength, not weakness. Why is that not enough, Jug?”

They were sweet words, but Jughead’s poisoned mind had to wonder if it was just another manipulation.

“It cannot be enough, Betty, not when I am going to be a king. My father let his emotions compromise the good of our kingdom. A kingdom that was so disgraced by others that even after we obtained more wealth and power than the other Allieds, we are still viewed as beggars and pretenders. I must be more than my emotions.” He removed her hands from his shoulders, and they dropped heavily.

“I am on your side Jughead, I am at a loss of how further to prove that to you. I cannot comprehend where this turn is coming from. I would never twist you to meet my own selfish ends.” Her voice was wrought with emotion and Jughead was frustrated she did not endeavour to understand his perspective.

“Can you say the same for Archie? For Trevor Brown? Hell, even to that ornery innkeeper. Were your ends not selfish in your pursuits with them? Your mother must be thrilled you are now heir, I have no doubt all the workers at your land are at your beck and call.” Jughead pointed out the window, as if implying Betty was the entire kingdom’s puppeteer.

For the first time in the conversation, the flame of anger took hold in Betty’s voice and manner, causing her previously calm voice to raise in volume and hostility, “I admit, my actions with Archibald may have been foolhardy. But they were acted out of hurt and betrayal from his presumption over his ownership of my life and my body. An ownership, that I must remind you, severed all other opportunities I had for courtship. Regarding manipulation, I have not once promised myself or led another to believe in a union that is not meant to be.” She shifted her tactic, moving to mollify Jughead as she grabbed his face and forced it down to hers, pressing their foreheads together as Jughead naturally moved his hands to her waist. 

“All of this is nonsense is fear, Jughead. Focus on me. I have never told anyone outside of my banished fiancé that I want forever with them, Jughead. I want forever with you.”

Despite himself, he melted into Betty’s arms. Without any doubt he wanted an infinite number of lifetimes with her. But his mind fought him fiercely, telling him he was acting as foolish as his father had five and twenty years prior. His emotions were a fog, and he could not see truth behind his visceral love for Betty.

“Do you truly believe, Jug, that I am marrying you for your title?”

“No, I do not.” Jughead let himself feel Betty’s forehead against his own, her waist underneath his shaking hands. “But I fear I may be a fool.”

Betty stepped back, her tears angry, “Then am I not also a fool? You have hinted that I have charmed an army of boys to do my bidding, but by your own admission have you not done the same? Perhaps I am naïve to think I would be different than all the girls who have come before me.” Half of her speech was said under her breath, as if his uncertainty was watering her own plaguing suspicions.

Jughead reached out for her, “Betty–”

“No, Jug.” Betty took several steps away from him, stumbling on her feet. Jughead held out his arms to catch her, but upon seeing her flinch away from him, he kept his distance. “I have done nothing to earn this doubt.” 

A flare of anger reignited in Jughead’s belly. “I have enumerated my reasons for doubt! Explain yourself then and further detail your conversation with your mother. Tell me my reasoning is unfounded. She raised you to be a queen. You could not land Archibald in time, so I suppose the Serpent Kingdom will have to do. This story has already been told, Betty, between my father and mother. She charmed him into a crown and left my sister and I behind to become premature adults and caretakers for our drunk father. You and your mother spoke of titles as if it were a game, but I am not to be played, nor am a prize to be won, Elizabeth.”

Jughead had closed the distance between himself and Betty so that he towered over her. But she was not to cowed. Betty glared at him, but with determination instead of anger. She grabbed both of his hands and pressed them to her chest so he could feel her heart beating, as if silently asking him not to break it. 

“Jughead. Forget my mother, this investigation, and these suspicions, and answer a simple question. Have I once, in our entire relationship, even as children, ever lied to you?”

Jughead thought on the question, and Betty gave him patience to locate his answer, their hands still gripped tight, her heart beating steady underneath their embrace. Jughead did not need the time for recollection, he knew the answer throughout the entirety of the argument.

“No, you have not.”

Satisfied, Betty smiled and whispered, “My virtue and loyalty remain true.”

She meant the words as a tease, but they aggravated another one of Jughead’s worries, a topic he could no longer avoid.

“Except when it comes to Charles Clayton.”

Betty backed away so abruptly she pushed Jughead back several steps. “Pardon?”

Too late, Jughead understood the accusation of his words and his eyes widened in apology, “No, Betty I did not mean virtue–”

Betty interrupted him with a raised hand and a steely stare, “I suggest you quickly explain yourself.”

Ah, an explanation. Hoping the words would come out as he intended, he ran his hands through his hair and tentatively began, “Chuck Clayton’s entire life was stolen from him—his title, his family, and his future wife…” Jughead trailed off, not wanting to finish his next thought aloud. Betty had no patience for his hesitation.

“Yes?”

He forced himself to look her straight into her questioning eyes. “Why did you not follow him or attempt to investigate his whereabouts? I have seen you unravel greater mysteries, Betty. It causes me to wonder why.”

“And what is it, that you wonder?”

“Why would a woman so capable and so in love not avenge her banished beau. Unless, of course, the fall from grace and wealth would be too great a burden to bear. The Cooper family could not bear to stoop so low.” 

He crossed his arms in front of him as if to close his emotion off from Betty, an action Betty recognized and mirrored.

“Chuck came to me the night the decree was brought forward and asked me to let him leave. He reminded me that I had a life and responsibility here that I could not abandon. But I did not care to heed his pleas. He masked his travels so that I could not follow. Fled under a false name and paid covertly.” Betty’s tears were fresh now, “Do you truly think I had not tried?”

Jughead closed his eyes and forced himself to make this point plainly. “I am merely suggesting that there is a story here that makes sense based on the evidence. Your mother wishes you to marry well. You are exceptionally capable at charming your way into the graces of others. You have lost your earl and now the prince that was enraptured with you is suddenly promised to another. There is urgency in pursuing marriage now since your family, though incredibly wealthy, is enshrouded in scandal. There is a rationale behind charming the other Allied Prince, since his wealth and name would surely protect you.”

Betty flushed red with anger, “That is the root of the matter is it not? You accuse me of placing my name and the duchy above others, but you have a false sense of modesty regarding your own situation. You allow the other two Allied Kingdoms to struggle under the burden of taxes; taxes the Serpent Kingdom does not require but enforces out of spite. You approach every conversation with a northern Allied Kingdom as a battle to be won. You lord the power you now yield over others as a weapon and a boast. That pride will crush you and your kingdom if you do not guard against it.”

Jughead scoffed to hide the bruise her rebuttal caused, “And then I would be no use to you with a fallen kingdom.”

Betty turned to him with wide disbelieving eyes, that his priorities were so misplaced, “You fear that I will bring the downfall of the Serpent Kingdom?”

“I fear that if my kingdom were to stumble you would abandon me just as you abandoned him!”

Betty was struck silent, but her body seemed to vibrate with anger as she collected her thoughts before responding. Slowly but deftly she moved to her satchel and hitched it over her shoulder. As Jughead watched her, an agony ripped through him as if he were stabbed. Betty was in pain and he was the culprit, and desperation to mend his errors overtook him.

“Betts, forgive me, I did not mean to imply–”

“You have said enough for this day, Forsythe, and I believe I have earned the right for rebuttal.” 

She squared her shoulders to Jughead and looked him straight in the eye, so that he could see her tears held in check as she continued. 

“You have laid several offences against me. First that I manipulate others, particularly men for my own use and agenda, an agenda whose primary goal is the marriage to a prince. I do not pretend that I do not recognize the leniency and favor granted to me by others, nor will I pretend that I do not enjoy the benefits of this preference. I believe that kindness fosters kindness and am always grateful to be proven true. That is the only motive I have for treating others well: that they may return that behavior to others. As to marriage, it is true my mother has always wished for an advantageous match into a royal family, but I assure you I have never wished for such a fate. In fact, I wish you were not a prince, as it would grant more ease to our relationship.” 

Betty closed her eyes and took a deep breath the action releasing a tear down her cheek, and Jughead yearned to brush it away. 

“The second accusation is surrounding my regard for my former fiancé. I will not dignify your insult with a defense. I loved him, if I could have followed, I would have, end of statement.”

Betty turned around to leave but stopped after several steps, turning abruptly as she moved quickly toward Jughead, her hands reaching out to cradle his face so that he could not look away from her.

“I have shown you the truth of my heart and my mind, an intimacy  and more real than what I shared even with Chuck. But you are hiding yourself from me. I want the man who told stories with me for hours in front of a dying fire. I want the man who sees every problem as an opportunity for success. I want the man who sees lilies as forgiveness. This boy before me fears his own shadow and is drowning in his own fear. If that man who almost kissed in the shade of the peonies returns, he can find me. Until then, goodbye Jug.” 

Her face was so close Jughead could kiss her, and oh, how he wanted to meet her lips with his own. But he could not move. He was not entirely certain he was breathing.

Betty stared into his eyes for a few more moments until she could not stem the tears any longer. She sped out the door, but not before Jughead heard the first of her sobs.

That morning Jughead felt too much. Now he could feel nothing at all.

***

When his father was deep under the influence of whiskey and wine, FP would seek out some of the valuables of the castle. It was an odd habit that, based on FP’s mumblings, stemmed from his commitment to prove his wife was a fool for leaving so fine a home. As the Serpent kingdom grew to prominence, Southside Castle became home to rare pieces of art.

On one of these occasions, Jughead and JB attempted to corral their father back to his chambers and away from the precious and valuable treasures. In a fit of annoyed rage, he struck out and knocked a sculpture of lava rock crafted in the Fire Islands down to the floor, cleaving the beautiful piece in two. Jughead remembered his father’s look of immediate regret, that such a short spell of energy could so quickly ruin something that had taken time and care to construct.

After Betty’s tearful departure, Jughead mimicked that evening by shattering the plate which held the nearly untouched breakfast before sinking to the floor with his head in his hands.

His body physically shook from the pain and anger that pulsed in his blood. Anger at himself for losing his temper at Betty. Anger toward Betty for refusing to acknowledge her power over men. Anger at her assertions and accusations regarding him and the Serpent kingdom. Anger at himself for the accuracy of some of those statements. Anger again at Betty for not acknowledging the truth in his own accusations. Pain at the dwindling hope of recovering their relationship. Pain for not being enough. Pain for being hurt by Betty. Pain for hurting Betty in return. Pain for following down his father’s path.

His father had warned him that love would be his downfall. FP Jones chased the love away from his life and vilified the emotion that broke him in the process. Jughead always swore he would not fall into the same habits, and yet here he sat, his shredded heart painfully thumping in his chest. He never knew that heartbreak would feel so visceral.

Without announcement a maid entered the sitting room with his luncheon tray in hand, her eyes widening at the sight of the broken prince before her.

“Your highness, are you well? Do I need to fetch the surgeon?”

Jughead rose unsteadily to his feet but raised a hand to stay the maid. He stared at the food she had placed on the table, but he found that his appetite was again banished.

A thirst however begged to be quenched.

There was wine provided with the meal and he hastily downed the glass as he gestured toward the wide-eyed maid.

“I am well enough, but please inform the kitchen and his highness that I will be dining in my chamber tonight. And bring more wine.”

The maid started to stammer, “M-more, how much?”

“Simply continue to bring the wine until instructed elsewise, and if the supply wanes change to whisky.”

The maid again hesitated but scurried away after a final angry shout from Jughead. He could not bring himself to feel remorse as he refilled his goblet from the stone vase provided with his meal. He stared into the goblets crimson depths before downing the bitter release, the numbness already humming in his veins.

If he was going to become his father, he might as well complete the cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. The angst tag has been there the whole time! And we have 33 chapters! Twists and turns!
> 
> I made sure that Chap 15 was more than halfway baked before posting this because I did not want to leave you hanging on this note for too long.
> 
> As always find me on the tumblr (same user name) and please comment or kudos if the spirit moves ya!


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